Swords  Reluctant 


Published  in  London  under  the  title  of 
"War  and  the  Woman" 


,  By 

Max  Pemberton 

Author  of  "The  Fortunate  Prisoner,"  "The  Garden  of  Swords,"  etc. 


"  Peace  hath  her  victories 
No  less  renowned  than  war." 

MILTON:  Sonnets. 

'  I,  in  this  weak  piping  time  of  peace, 
Have  no  delight  to  pass  away  the  time, 
Unless  to  see  my  shadow  in  the  sun." 

SHAKESPEARE:  Richard  III. 


B 


G.  W.   Dillingham  Company 

Publishers  New  York 


ENTERED  FOR  COPYRIGHT  MAY  agra,  19*2 

UNDER  THE  TITLE  OF 

WAR  AND  THE  WOMAN 

COPYRIGHT,  1912,  BY 
G.  W.  DlLLINGHAM  COMPANY 

UNDER  THE  TITLE  OF 
SWORDS  RELUCTANT 


Swords  Reluctant 


SRlfc 
URU 


TO 

ANDREW  CARNEGIE 

NON   EXERCITUS 

NEQUE  THESAURI   PRffiSIDIA   REGNI  SUNT, 
VERUM   AMICI 


The  Author  would  make  acknowledgments  to  Sir  Max 
Waechter  and  to  Sir  Francis  Trippelfor  the  generous  help 
given  to  this  book  and  to  its  purpose.  While  the  characters 
in  it  are  entirely  fictitious,  the  scheme  for  the  Federation 
of  Europe  is  wholly  due  to  Sir  Max  Waechter' s  initiative. 
This  scheme  has  obtained  favour  at  the  Courts  of  the 
Continent  and  is  warmly  approved  by  many  in  this 
country,  who  realise  how  inseparably  the  Peace  question  is 
allied  to  that  of  the  national  finance. 


CONTENTS 


Book  I.— The  Challenge 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

1.  GABRIELLE  SILVESTER  WRITES  A  LETTER  .        .        .        .n 

2.  A  MAN  OF  DESTINY .        .      20 

3.  BETWEEN  HEAVEN  AND  EARTH 30 

4.  THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  ODYSSEY 45 

5.  GENERAL  D'ARNY  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER       ....      67 

Book  II.— The  Players 

1.  A  RACE  FOR  AN  EMPEROR .81 

2.  Louis  DE  PALEOLOGUE .91 

3.  THE  DAMNABLE  MOUNTAINS 101 

4.  THE  BURNING  OF  RANOVICA      .        .       .        .       .        .114 

5.  A  STRANGE  VOYAGE 133 

6.  GOODWILL  TOWARD  MEN 156 

Book  III.— Aftermath 

1.  THE  MEMORABLE  WINTER 173 

2.  OF  LOVE  BUT  NOT  OF  MARRIAGE 193 

3.  AFTER  TEN  DAYS .  203 

4.  CINDERELLA 219 

5.  THE  MAN  OF  THE  MOMENT 234 


viii  CONTENTS 

Book  IV. — Merely  Men  and  Women 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

1.  AFTER  THE  DEBACLE 247 

2.  THE  SHADOW  is  LIFTED      .......  263 

3.  THE  MARIGOLDS  TO  THE  SUN 272 

4.  SURRENDER  AND  AFTERWARDS    .       .       .       .       ,       .284 

5.  Two  SHIPS  UPON  THE  SEA  .       .       •...._,.       •       .  306 


BOOK  I 
THE  CHALLENGE 


SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

CHAPTER  I 

GABRIELLE  SILVESTER  WRITES  A  LETTER 


GabrieHe  returned  from  the  Town  Hall  where  the 
meeting  was  held,  just  after  ten  o'clock,  and  was  glad 
to  see  the  fire  burning  brightly  in  her  room.  She 
remembered  that  she  would  never  have  thought  of 
such  a  luxury  as  a  fire  in  her  bedroom  prior  to  her 
visit  to  New  York. 

All  agreed  that  it  had  been  a  very  successful  meet- 
ing, and  that  real,  convincing  work  had  been  done. 
She  herself  could  say,  in  the  privacy  of  her  own  room, 
that  the  excitements  of  such  gatherings  had  become 
a  necessity  to  her  since  the  strenuous  days  in  America, 
and  perhaps  to  her  father  also. 

How  changed  her  life  since  she  first  set  foot  on  the 
deck  of  the  Oceanic  and  began  to  know  a  wider 
world!  England  had  seemed  but  a  garden  upon  her 
return  and  its  people  but  half  awake.  She  had  a  vivid 
memory  of  the  rush  and  roar  of  distant  cities,  of 
strange  faces  and  new  races,  but  chiefly  of  a  discovery 
of  self  which  at  once  frightened  and  perplexed  her. 

Would  it  be  possible  to  accept  without  complaint 

11 


SWORDS  RELUCTANT 


the  even  tenor  of  that  obscure  life  in  Hampstead 
which  she  had  suffered  willingly  but  seven  months 
ago?  She  knew  that  it  would  not,  and  could  answer 
for  her  father  also.  A  call  had  come  to  him  and  to 
her.  She  had  been  sure  of  it  at  the  meeting,  but  of 
its  nature  she  had  yet  to  be  wholly  convinced. 

Gordon  Silvester,  the  most  eloquent  preacher  among 
the  Congregationalists,  had  gone  to  America  at  the 
bidding  of  a  famous  millionaire,  there  to  bear  witness 
to  the  brotherhood  of  man  and  the  bond  between  the 
peoples.  The  achievement  of  the  great  treaty  between 
America  and  the  Motherland  had  drawn  together  the 
leading  intellects  of  the  two  countries,  and  had  cul- 
minated in  that  mighty  assemblage  in  New  York 
which  had  stood  before  the  altar  of  the  Eternal  Peace 
and  closed,  as  it  believed  for  ever,  the  Temple  of  the 
twin-headed  Janus.  With  the  minister  had  gone 
Gabrielle,  his  only  child,  and  thus  for  the  first  time 
during  her  three  and  twenty  years  had  she  seen  any 
world  but  that  of  the  suburban  parish  in  which  Gor- 
don Silvester  laboured. 


II 

It  was  a  bitter  cold  night  of  the  memorable  winter 
with  which  this  story  is  chiefly  concerned. 

Gabrielle  wore  furs,  which  had  been  purchased  in 
Quebec,  and  a  hat  which  some  upon  the  steamer  had 
thought  a  little  outre  for  a  parson's  daughter.  These 
furs  she  had  just  laid  upon  her  bed,  and  was  busy 
unpinning  her  hat  when  her  father  knocked  at  the 
door  and  asked  if  he  might  come  in.  She  thought 


GABRIELLE  WRITES  A  LETTER         13 

that  he  was  more  excited  than  he  was  wont  to  be  in 
the  old  days,  and  there  were  blotches  of  crimson  upon 
his  usually  sallow  cheeks. 

"I  am  just  going  to  bed,"  he  said  in  a  quiet  tone; 
"if  you  want  anything  to  eat,  let  Jane  know.  The 
room  was  very  hot,  I  think — my  head  is  aching." 

She  turned  with  her  hand  still  among  the  curls  of 
her  auburn  hair,  a  wonderfully  graceful  figure  for 
such  a  scene. 

"You  must  be  very  tired,  dear,"  she  said  very 
gently.  "I  have  never  heard  anything  more  beautiful 
than  your  speech." 

He  took  a  step  into  the  room,  his  hand  upon  the 
door. 

"Then  you  think  it  was  a  success,  Gabrielle?" 

"I  don't  think  at  all  about  it;  it  was  what  Mr. 
Faber  would  have  called  'electrical/  ' 

He  let  go  the  door,  and  then  shut  it  behind  him. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  as  though  thinking  upon  it,  "if 
we  could  have  had  Faber  with  us." 

She  laughed,  showing  the  superb  whiteness  of  her 
teeth. 

"The  lion  and  the  lamb.  Why  do  you  attach  any 
importance  to  him?" 

He  crossed  the  room  to  an  arm-chair  and  sat  there, 
poking  the  fire. 

"He  is  one  of  the  men  who  can  make  peace  or 
war,"  he  said.  "Sir  Jules  Achon  agrees  with  me. 
Popular  sentiment  goes  for  much,  but  the  men  who 
control  the  destinies  are  the  financiers." 

"But,  father,  how  could  Mr.  Faber  control  this 
particular  situation?" 


14 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"He  could  set  a  great  example  of  forbearance. 
Is  he  not  rich  enough?" 

She  came  and  sat  by  him  near  the  fire.  It  was  yet 
early  in  the  most  memorable  winter  that  England  has 
ever  known,  but  the  cold  had  become  intense. 

"I  saw  so  little  of  Mr.  Faber  on  the  ship,"  she 
said  reflectively;  "he  appeared  to  me  to  be  a  man 
who  could  move  mountains  .  .  .  with  somebody 
else's  arms,  to  say  nothing  of  somebody's  else's 
spades." 

"Was  that  your  only  impression  of  him?" 

"Oh !  force — hardly  of  character,  perhaps — that  and 
his  restlessness.  Why  d;d  everyone  talk  of  him?  Was 
it  because  he  is  worth  eleven  millions  of  money  ?  Was 
that  all  that  could  be  said  of  him  ?" 

"A  very  good  reason  nowadays.  They  say  he  has  a 
contract  with  the  French  Government  for  five  millions 
of  the  new  rifles.  Permissible  exaggeration  makes  him 
the  arbiter  of  peace  or  war.  Did  he  not  give  you  that 
impression  ?" 

"I  hardly  think  so;  he  was  mostly  concerned  about 
his  boarhound's  dinner.  As  far  as  I  remember,  he 
considers  our  party  just  harmless  lunatics.  I  made 
him  confess  as  much  one  day." 

Silvester  passed  by  the  admission.. 

"He  goes  on  a  fearful  journey,"  he  said,  falling 
unconsciously  to  the  pulpit  manner.  "Of  course  such 
men  know  a  great  deal.  He  believes  that  there  will 
be  war  in  Europe  in  six  months'  time,  and  that  our 
country  will  be  concerned.  Did  he  not  tell  you  that  ?" 

"I  think  not,  father.  He  was  too  busy  asking  me 
to  arrange  the  roses  in  his  cabin." 


GABRIELLE  WRITES  A  LETTER         15 

"Ah!  I  remember  them,  pink  roses  everywhere  in 
early  December.  What  a  feminine  display !" 

"But  not  a  feminine  subject.  I  have  never  met  a 
man  whose  character  impressed  me  so  clearly.  He  has 
only  begun  in  the  world — those  were  his  own  words." 

"Well,  then,  why  should  he  not  begin  with  us? 
Sir  Jules  believes  that  nothing  would  make  a  greater 
stir  than  his  joining  our  Committee." 

"Then  why  don't  you  ask  him  yourself?  He's  in 
London  until  the  end  of  the  week." 

Silvester  did  not  speak  for  some  minutes.  He 
seemed  to  have  become  a  little  shy  of  this  outspoken 
wide-eyed  daughter  of  his,  who  evaded  the  issue  so 
cleverly. 

"I  wish  you'd  write,  Gabrielle." 

"To  Mr.  Faber?" 

"Yes;  you  seemed  very  good  friends  on  the  ship. 
I  believe  he'd  join  if  you  asked  him." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  believe  it  would  make  any  difference  who 
asked  him.  I'll  write,  if  you  wish  it" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  rising  abruptly,  "write  now  before 
you  go  to  bed.  You're  sure  you  are  not  hungry?" 

Gabrielle  laughed  lightly. 

"I  have  left  all  my  vices  in  America,"  she  rejoined, 
"being  hungry  in  the  witching  hours  is  one  of  them." 

Ill 

Her  boudoir  overlooked  the  great  well  wherein  Lon- 
don lies.  Though  the  moon  was  in  the  first  quarter, 
the  night  was  wonderful  in  stars,  and  the  air  quivered 


16 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

with  the  virility  of  frost.  She  could  see  St.  Paul's 
and  the  City  spires ;  the  Carlton  Hotel  lay  more  to  the 
west,  and  was  hidden  behind  the  slopes  of  Haver- 
stock  Hill.  There  was  no  snow,  for  this  frost  was 
black  as  iron. 

Just  below,  were  the  winding  walks  to  which  the 
pilgrims  came  in  search  of  Keats.  She  had  read  the 
sonnets  and  tried  to  understand  them,  but  candour 
compelled  her  to  say  that  she  preferred  Tennyson. 
Sometimes  she  thought  her  whole  interest  in  literature 
to  be  an  affectation ;  but  undoubtedly  she  was  addicted 
to  erotic  poetry  and  the  fire  of  Swinburne  would  burn 
in  her  veins.  All  this,  too,  was  hidden  from  her  father, 
who  occupied  himself  but  little  with  her  affairs,  and 
believed  that  her  interests  were  entirely  his  own. 

Girls  of  twenty-three  are  usually  fervent  letter- 
writers  and  Gabrielle  was  no  exception.  She  had  fur- 
nished folios  of  gossip  that  very  day  for  her  friend, 
Eva  Achon,  who  had  been  her  intimate  upon  the  ship. 
But  when  it  came  to  writing  "John  Sebastian  Faber, 
Esq.,"  her  pen  trembled  upon  the  paper.  How  impos- 
sible it  seemed  to  say  anything  to  which  such  a  man 
would  listen.  She  depicted  him  as  she  had  last  seen 
him  upon  the  deck  of  the  Oceanic,  stretched  on  a  sofa- 
chair,  and  smiling  at  her  philosophy.  "Letters  an- 
swered themselves,"  he  had  said.  He  got  through  life 
on  cables  and  confidence.  There  was  not  a  private 
letter  in  fifty  which  said  anything  worth  saying.  He 
had  proposed  a  league  for  the  suppression  of  private 
correspondence,  and  begged  her  to  be  one  of  the  vice- 
presidents.  She  remembered  her  own  disappointment 
th?t  he  h?d  r»ot  Rsked  her  to  write  to  him. 


GABRIELLE  WRITES  A  LETTER         17 

So  it  was  no  easy  thing  at  all  to  begin,  chiefly  be- 
cause she  feared  his  irony  and  was  quite  sure  that  her 
letter  would  achieve  nothing.  Half-a-dozen  sheets 
of  good  "cream  laid"  note  were  destroyed  before  she 
could  get  her  craft  launched  and  she  was  still  in  har- 
bour so  to  speak  when  she  heard  her  name  cried  out 
in  the  street  below,  and  opening  the  window  immedi- 
ately, discerned  Harry  Lassett  with  skates  upon  his 
arm. 

"Is  that  you,  Gabrielle?" 

The  cold  was  intense  and  filled  the  room  with  icy 
yapour.  She  shivered  where  she  stood,  and  drew  her 
dressing-gown  close  about  her  white  throat. 

"Whatever  are  you  doing,  Harry?  It's  nearly 
eleven  o'clock." 

"I  know  that.  We've  been  skating  on  the  Vale. 
There'll  be  grand  ice  to-morrow.  Won't  you  come? 
,You  must!" 

"I  haven't  got  any  skates !" 

"Oh,  send  into  town  for  some.  I'll  go  myself  if 
you'll  throw  me  out  an  old  boot.  You  don't  mean  to 
say  you're  going  to  miss  it?" 

She  shook  her  head  and  tried  to  shield  herself 
behind  the  heavy  curtains. 

"I  fear  I'll  have  to  go  visiting  to-morrow." 

"What,  those  American  dollars  again!  No! 
They're  spoiling  you;  I  thought  you  had  done  with 
that  nonsense." 

"I  did  not  say  they  were  American.  I  am  going 
to  Richmond  to  see  Eva  Achon." 

"Oh,  hang  Eva  Achon.  We  shall  have  bandy,  if 
it  holds.  Throw  me  out  that  boot,  and  I'll  go  away. 


18 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

Your  people  go  to  bed  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  don't 
they?  It's  all  locked  up  like  a  prison  down  here." 

"I  am  not  in  bed,  Harry.    I  am  writing  a  letter." 

"American,  of  course?" 

"Of  course,"  and  she  laughed  at  him.  Then  the 
boot  was  found,  and  tossed  out. 

"How's  that?"  he  asked — a  man  who  had  played 
for  Middlesex  and  the  'Varsities  could  not  have  asked 
any  other  question. 

"Let  me  know  just  how  much  they  are,  and  I  will 
send  it  round  in  the  afternoon.  Father  promised  me 
a  pair  to-night.  I'm  glad  you  can  get  them  for  me." 

"Right  oh!  We  shall  skate  on  the  Vale  directly 
I  return.  Dr.  Houghton  of  Grindelwald  wants  me  to 
have  a  pair  of  his  blades.  You'd  better  have  the 
same.  They're  grand !" 

"Anything  you  like,  my  dear  Harry,  if  they'll  keep 
me  warm.  I  shall  be  a  pillar  of  ice  if  I  stand  here." 

"Like  Lot's  wife!  Was  it  ice,  by  the  way?  Well, 
good-night,  then ;  or  shall  I  post  the  letter  ?" 

"That's  splendid  of  you.  I'll  just  finish  it.  But 
I'll  have  to  shut  the  window." 

"Imagine  me  a  sentry  doing  the  goose  step.  Will 
you  be  long?" 

"Just  two  minutes,  really." 

He  kissed  his  hand  to  her  when  she  shut  the  window 
and  began  to  stamp  about  to  warm  himself.  They  had 
been  lovers  since  children,  and  were  still  free.  Harry 
Lassett's  three  hundred  a  year  "in  the  funds"  just 
permitted  him  to  play  cricket  for  the  county  and  to 
spend  the  best  part  of  the  winter  at  St.  Moritz.  He 
had  not  thought  much  about  marriage. 


GABRIELLE  WRITES  A  LETTER         19 

Gabrielle's  two  minutes  "really"  proved  to  be  an 
exact  prophecy.  Haste  bade  her  throw  both  preface 
and  conclusion  to  the  winds.  She  just  wrote : 

"DEAR  MR.  FABER, 

"My  father  would  be  very  pleased  if  you  would 
become  one  of  the  Vice-Presidents  of  the  Inter- 
national Arbitration  League.  Will  you  let  me 
say  'yes'  for  you?" 

And  that  was  the  letter  Harry  carried  to  the  post 
for  her. 

Vanity  promised  her  an  answer.  It  would  come 
over  the  telegraph  wires,  she  thought. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  MAN  OF  DESTINY 

John  Sebastian  Faber  had  a  suite  of  five  rooms  at 
the  Savoy  Hotel,  and,  as  he  said,  he  lived  in  four  of 
them  most  of  the  time.  The  room  which  he  did  not 
occupy  was  devoted  to  three  secretaries. 

Gabrielle  found  him  at  his  desk  in  an  apartment 
which  should  have  been  a  drawing-room.  The  win- 
dows looked  out  upon  the  Shot  Tower  and  showed 
him  the  majesty  of  Westminster.  There  was  a  litter 
of  American  journals  upon  a  round  table  at  his  back 
and  copies  of  the  English  Times,  much  mutilated  by. 
cutting.  He  wore  a  black  morning  coat,  and  would 
have  been  called  well-dressed  by  an  American  tailor. 

His  was  the  "clean-limbed"  type  of  man  who  is 
such  an  excellent  product  of  the  sister  nation — 
moderately  tall,  suggesting  virility  and  immense  nerv- 
ous energy.  Someone  upon  the  ship  said  that  he 
"snatched  at  life,"  and  that  was  no  untrue  description 
of  him.  But  he  had  also  picked  up  a  little  sum  of 
eleven  millions  sterling  by  the  process,  and  that  kind 
of  snatching  bears  imitation. 

A  footman  brought  Gabrielle  to  the  room,  and  Faber 
sprang  up  immediately,  brushing  back  curly  brown 
hair  from  his  forehead.  It  was  evident  that  he  ex- 

20 


A  MAN  OF  DESTINY  81 

pected  a  somewhat  protracted  interview,  for  he 
wheeled  a  low  chair  near  to  his  own  before  he  held 
out  his  hand  to  her. 

"Why,  now,  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  Sit  down  right 
here  and  let  us  talk.  A  long  way  in  from  Hampstead, 
isn't  it?  Too  hot,  perhaps;  well,  then,  we'll  have  the 
steam  turned  off." 

"Oh,  please!"  she  said,  casting  loose  her  grey  furs 
— he  had  already  regarded  her  from  a  man's  first 
aspect  and  approved  the  picture — "I  have  been  walk- 
ing down  the  Strand  and  the  air  is  so  cold.  It's  de- 
licious in  here — and  what  roses !" 

"Ah!  that's  where  I  blush.  I  always  have  roses 
wherever  I  go;  didn't  your  lady  from  Banbury  Cross 
do  the  same  thing  with  the  music  ?  Well,  I  get  as  far 
off  that  as  I  can — most  music.  Wagner's  good  if 
you're  up  against  a  man.  You  never  hear  him  crying 
'Enuf.'  Well,  now,  that's  right.  So  you  want  me 
for  the  I.A.L. — or,  rather,  your  father  does.  Why 
didn't  he  ask  me  on  the  ship?" 

He  swung  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  her  over 
from  head  to  foot.  She  had  always  been  a  little  afraid 
of  the  sensitive  eyes,  and  they  did  not  fail  to  magnetise 
her  as  heretofore.  It  was  possible,  however,  to  be 
very  frank  with  such  a  man;  she  spoke  with  good 
assurance  when  she  said : 

"Oh!  I  suppose  he  didn't  think  of  it." 

"You  mean  that  he  didn't  know  enough  about  me  ? 
Why,  that's  fair.  I  dare  say  he  heard  my  name  for 
the  first  time  that  night  I  ran  the  charity  concert  for 
him.  Guns  and  the  gospel  don't  go  well  together,  my 
dear  lady,  not  in  civilized  parts.  Your  father  won't 


SWORDS  RELUCTANT 


want  rifles  until  he  goes  to  China  to  turn  the  great 
god  Bud  inside  out.  I'll  let  him  have  a  consignment 
cheap  when  he's  starting." 

She  thought  it  a  little  brutal,  hardly  the  thing  he 
should  have  said ;  but  his  good  humour  was  invincible, 
and  she  forgave  him  immediately. 

"The  fact  is,"  he  ran  on,  "your  father  is  a  good 
man,  Miss  Silvester,  and  I'm  a  merchant.  Where  we 
come  together  is  in  admiring  a  certain  fellow  passenger 
who  ran  the  ship  and  will  run  other  ships.  There 
we're  on  common  ground.  Now  say  what  you  like  to 
me  and  I'll  hear  it,  for  I've  just  twenty  minutes  at  your 
disposal,  and  you  may  count  every  one  of  them.  To 
begin  with  the  I.A.L. — does  your  father  remember 
that  I'm  a  gunmaker  ?" 

She  was  vastly  puzzled. 

"I  think  he  knows  it  in  a  vague  way.  The  captain 
of  the  Oceanic  said  you  were  building  the  new  Ameri- 
can navy — is  that  quite  true?" 

"It  would  be  in  a  prospectus.  My  house  builds 
one  of  the  new  cruisers,  and  some  of  the  destroyers. 
Guns  are  the  bigger  line.  I've  come  to  Europe  to  sell 
guns.  Did  they  tell  you  that  also  ?" 

"Yes,  I  think  everyone  knows  it." 

"Then  why  come  to  me?  Would  you  go  to  the 
keeper  of  a  saloon  and  ask  him  to  help  you  to  put 
down  the  drink?  He'd  tell  you  that  drink  made 
George  Washington,  just  as  I  tell  you  that  guns  made 
your  Lord  Nelson.  Would  the  Admiral  have  joined 
your  I.A.L.?" 

"Oh,"  she  said,  with  womanly  obstinacy,  "then  you 
still  think  there  is  no  alternative  but  war?" 


A  MAN  OF  DESTINY 23 

He  laughed  and  began  to  make  holes  with  his  pen- 
cil in  the  blotting  pad  before  him. 

"It's  just  as  though  you  asked  me  if  there  were 
no  alternative  but  human  nature.  Why  isn't  the  world 
good  right  through?  Why  do  murder  and  other 
crimes  still  exist  on  the  face  of  the  earth?  Would  a 
league  suppress  them — a  decision  at  Washington  that 
there  should  be  no  more  sin?  I  guess  not.  If  a  man 
knocks  me  down  before  lunch,  I  may  go  to  law  with 
him;  if  it's  after  and  there's  been  any  wine,  I'll  pos- 
sibly do  my  own  justice  and  do  it  quick.  War  is  as 
old  as  human  nature,  and  if  we  are  to  believe  that  a 
God  rules  the  world,  we've  got  to  believe  also  that 
man  was  meant  to  go  to  war.  Shall  I  tell  you  that 
some  of  the  noblest  things  done  on  this  earth  were 
done  on  the  battlefield?  You  wouldn't  believe  me. 
Your  father  thinks  George  Washington  a  son  of  the 
devil,  and  Nelson  a  man  of  blood.  I've  heard  that 
sort  of  thing  from  the  platform,  and  it's  turned  me 
sick.  Your  I.A.L.  is  a  league  for  the  manufacture  of 
lath-backed  men.  Do  you  think  the  world  will  be 
any  better  when  every  man  turns  the  other  cheek  and 
honour  has  gone  into  the  pot?  If  you  do,  well,  I'm 
on  the  other  side  all  the  time.  War  may  go,  but  it 
has  got  to  change  human  nature  first.  Tell  your 
father  that,  and  ask  him  to  think  about  it.  I  wonder 
what  text  he'd  take  if  a  troop  of  cavalry  camped  in 
his  drawing-room  to-night.  Would  the  I.A.L.  do 
much  for  him?  Why,  I  think  not." 

She  smiled  at  his  wild  images,  and  thought  that  she 
would  demolish  them  simply. 

"You  speak  in  fables,"  she  said,  "it's  like  the  non- 


24.  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

sense  in  the  panicky  stories.  There  is  no  one  in  Eng- 
land nowadays  who  seriously  believes  in  that  kind  of 
war.  I  do  not  think  you  can  do  so  yourself.  Now, 
really,  did  you  ever  see  a  battlefield  in  your  life,  Mr. 
Faber?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  eyes  half  shut. 

"I  was  in  Port  Arthur  the  night  the  ships  were 
struck.  I  saw  the  big  fighting  at  Liaoyang.  Go  back 
farther  and  I'll  tell  you  stories  of  Venezuela  and  the 
Philippines,  which  should  be  written  down  in  red. 
I'm  a  child  of  war — my  father  died  at  a  barricade  in 
Paris  three  days  before  the  Commune  fell.  A  diamond 
of  a  man  saved  my  mother  and  took  her  out  to 
America,  where  I  was  born.  There's  war  in  the  very 
marrow  of  my  bones — I  live  for  it  as  other  men  for 
women  and  children.  Should  you  ask  such  a  man  to 
join  such  a  League?  I'll  put  it  squarely  to  you.  Now 
tell  me  the  truth." 

The  intensity  of  the  appeal  startled  her.  The 
method  of  her  life  in  the  parsonage  at  Hampstead 
would  have  prompted  a  platitude  of  the  platforms, 
some  retort  about  the  progress  of  humanity,  and  the 
need  for  social  advance.  But  it  seemed  impossible  to 
say  such  things  to  John  Faber.  Her  courage  ran  down 
as  ice  before  a  fire;  she  was  wholly  embarrassed  and 
without  resource. 

"Come,"  he  repeated,  "you  owe  me  the  admission. 
Should  the  request  have  been  made  to  me?" 

"No,  indeed — and  yet  I  will  not  say  that  anyone 
would  be  dishonoured  by  it." 

"Did  I  suggest  the  contrary?" 

"I  think  your  idols  false." 


A  MAN  OF  DESTINY  25 

"They  are  the  idols  of  human  nature — not  mine." 

"We  could  say  the  same  of  the  primitive  savages. 
Why  should  we  have  advanced  beyond  the  battle-axe 
and  the  club?" 

"Not  the  political  clubs — see  here,  is  there  any  real 
advance  when  the  knife  goes  deep  enough?  Suppose  a 
thousand  English  women  were  butchered  in  China — or 
I'll  make  it  Turkey — would  your  father  be  for  the 
I.A.L.  ?  If  he  were,  the  people  would  burn  his 
pulpit!" 

"It  only  means  that  we  must  educate." 

"We're  doing  it  all  the  time.  Does  education  make 
your  burglar  sing  psalms,  or  does  it  teach  him  to  use 
oxygen  for  burning  open  the  safe?  I  think  nothing 
of  education — that  way.  Who  are  the  best  educated 
people  in  Europe?  The  Germans.  Are  they  coming 
in  to  the  I.A.L.?" 

"My  father  hopes  that  much  may  be  done  by  the 
understanding  between  the  ministers " 

He  laughed  rudely,  brutally. 

"All  the  sheep  baaing  together,  and  the  wolf 
sharpening  his  teeth  on  the  national  grindstone.  I've 
no  patience  to  hear  it." 

"Then  I  certainly  will  not  repeat  it." 

A  flush  of  anger  coloured  her  cheeks,  and  her  heart 
began  to  beat  fast.  She  was  conscious  of  a  role  which 
fitted  her  but  ill,  and  was  no  reflection  of  herself.  How 
much  sooner  would  she  have  been  downstairs  among 
the  well-dressed  women  who  were  beginning  to  flock 
into  the  restaurant  for  lunch !  This  man's  brutal  logic 
threatened  to  shatter  her  professed  ideals,  and  to  leave 
her  vanity  defenceless.  She  remembered  at  the  same 


26 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

time  what  the  meaning  of  the  triumph  would  be  if 
she  won  him.  All  the  country  would  talk  of  that! 

"You  are  not  offended  with  me?"  he  said  in  a 
gentler  tone.  "I'm  sure  you  won't  be  when  you  get 
back  home  and  think  of  it." 

"I  shall  try  to  think  of  it  as  little  as  possible." 

"As  your  countrymen  are  doing.  If  there  was  more 
than  half-an-ounce  of  the  radium  of  common  sense  in 
this  kingdom  at  the  present  moment,  some  people 
would  be  thinking  very  hard,  Miss  Silvester ' 

"Of  what?" 

He  rose  from  his  chair,  thrust  his  hands  deep  into 
his  trousers  pockets,  went  over  to  the  window  and 
stood  looking  out. 

"They  would  be  thinking  of  the  frost,"  he  said. 

"Perhaps  it  is  too  cold  to  think  about  it !" 

He  laughed. 

"Well  said  and  true.  Did  you  read  in  the  Times 
that  there  is  ice  in  the  English  Channel  for  the  first 
time  for  twenty  years  ?" 

"I  never  read  the  Times " 

"Then  don't  begin  if  you  would  remain  a  woman." 

"Is  she,  then,  unworthy  of  it?" 

"Not  at  all — it  is  unworthy  of  her.  It  tells  the 
truth!" 

"Oh,  I  grant  that  that  is  embarrassing  sometimes. 
We  were  speaking  of  the  frost." 

"And  the  fables.  The  fable,  written  by  a  great 
German,  is  about  to  freeze  the  English  Channel  and 
the  North  Sea !  Ice  from  the  Humber  to  Kiel !  Ports- 
mouth frozen  up.  An  ice  carnival  at  the  Thames' 
mouth.  Do  you  believe  in  fables?" 


A  MAN  OF  DESTINY  27 

She  stared  at  him  amazed. 

"What  would  happen  if  this  one  were  true?" 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "you  had  better  ask  the  I.A.L." 

She  was  silent  a  little  while,  then  she  said : 

"Your  bogies  are  wonderful.  Are  there  many  in 
your  life?" 

"More  than  I  count." 

"They  are  lucky  then?" 

"Yes,  for  one  of  them  sends  you  to  my  rooms 
to-day." 

He  had  never  spoken  to  her  in  this  way  before,  and 
the  tone  of  it  found  her  amazed.  Hitherto  the  man 
of  affairs  and  the  woman  of  the  useful  vanities  had 
been  speaking ;  but  John  Faber  had  changed  all  that  in 
an  instant.  She  felt  his  wide  eyes  focused  upon  her 
with  a  sudden  glance  which  burned.  He  had  taken  a 
step  toward  her,  and  for  a  moment  she  feared  that 
some  mad  impulse  would  drive  him  to  forget  the  true 
circumstance  of  their  meeting,  and  to  suppose  another. 
She  felt  her  heart  beat  rapidly — a  true  instinct  warned 
her  to  act  upon  the  defensive. 

"I  think  we  were  talking  of  another  kind  of  bogy," 
she  said  quickly — "women  deserve  a  new  chapter." 

He  laughed  a  little  hardly,  and  turned  upon  his 
heel. 

"The  goose  awoke  and  the  Capitol  is  saved.  Well, 
about  this  frost?" 

"Oh,  I  shall  hope  for  a  thaw." 

"That's  what  your  I.A.L.  is  doing  all  the  time. 
Tell  them  that  John  Faber  wishes  them  well,  and  will 
sell  them  a  hundred  thousand  rifles  any  time  they 
are  reconsidering  the  position.  Perhaps  I  shall  meet 


28 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

you  when  I  return  from  Paris.  \Ve  can  put  the  con- 
tract through  then." 

She  shook  her  head,  trying  to  hide  the  annoyance 
of  the  rebuff. 

"I  don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  see  you  again,"  she 
said. 

"I'll  bet  you  a  thousand  dollars  you  do,  either  in 
Paris  or  Berlin." 

"Why  should  I  go  there?" 

"Because  your  little  friend  Claudine  d'Arny  will 
see  that  you  do." 

"Oh,  that  was  only  an  acquaintance  on  the  ship. 
I  had  forgotten  her." 

"My  memory  is  better.  I  have  been  chewing  her 
father's  name  for  twenty  years." 

"Do  you  know  him,  then?" 

It  was  his  turn  to  laugh — with  the  silent  anger  of 
a  man  who  remembers. 

"He  gave  the  order  for  my  father  to  be  shot.  I 
don't  think  I'll  forget  him." 

She  hardly  believed  him  to  be  serious.  There  he 
stood,  smiling  softly,  one  hand  deep  in  his  trousers 
pocket,  the  other  toying  with  his  roses.  He  had  just 
told  her  what  he  would  have  told  no  other  woman  in 
England,  and  she  thought  him  a  jester. 

"Is  this  one  of  the  fables?" 

"Certainly  it  is.  I  am  going  to  Paris  to  write  the 
moral." 

She  watched  his  face  curiously. 

"But,  surely,  if  General  d'Arny  gave  any  such  order, 
it  was  in  his  official  capacity." 

"As  I  shall  give  mine — in  an  official  capacity." 


A  MAN  OF  DESTINY  29 

"Then  you  have  not  forgiven  him?" 

"It  is  for  that  very  purpose  I  am  going  to  Paris. 
That  and  one  other." 

"To  sell  your  guns — I  read  it  in  the  papers." 

He  smiled — in  a  kindly  way  this  time. 

"I'll  give  you  twenty  guesses." 

"But  I  am  hopeless  at  riddles." 

"Then  I'll  solve  this  one  for  -you.  I  am  going  to 
Paris  to  give  one  million  dollars  to  the  man  who  took 
my  mother  to  America — if  I  can  find  him." 

"I  hope  you  will  succeed — and  I  wish  I  knew  the 
man." 

He  liked  this,  for  it  was  the  first  really  girlish  thing 
she  had  said.  Perhaps  even  at  that  stage  Faber  read 
her  wholly,  and  believed  that  it  was  good  for  her  to 
see  "common  sense  in  curl  papers,"  as  he  put  it.  He 
might  even  have  led  her  to  talk  of  her  father  and  her 
home  had  not  the  inexorable  secretary  knocked  upon 
the  door  at  that  very  moment.  The  summons  brought 
him  to  "attention,"  as  the  call  of  a  sergeant  to  the  new 
recruit. 

"Time  is  unkind  to  us,"  he  said.  "I  must  go  down 
to  Throgmorton  Street  to  make  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars.  Well,  we  shall  meet  again  in  Paris  or  Berlin. 
A  thousand  dollars  for  your  I.A.L.  if  we  don't.  Re- 
member me  to  your  father,  please.  Is  he  likely  to  ac- 
cept that  call  to  Yonkers,  by  the  way?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said  quite  simply;  "he  is  so 
ignorant  about  American  money." 

John  Faber  smiled  at  that.  Gabrielle  went  down 
the  Strand  blushing  furiously,  and  wondering  why  she 
had  said  anything  at  once  so  honest  and  so  foolish. 


CHAPTER   III 

BETWEEN   HEAVEN  AND  EARTH 


Clad  in  an  alpaca  coat,  which  had  long  since  lost 
its  lining,  and  in  carpet  slippers  very  much  too  large 
for  him,  Gordon  Silvester  awaited  his  daughter's  re- 
turn to  the  house  in  Well  Walk.  The  luncheon  bell 
had  rung  a  second  time,  and  God  alone  knew  what  was 
in  the  mind  of  Agatha,  the  cook.  Silvester  feared  this 
woman  greatly,  especially  in  those  frequently  recur- 
ring seasons  when  her  madness  ran  to  taking  the 
pledge. 

It  was  a  quarter  past  two  when  Gabrielle  returned, 
and  they  should  have  lunched  at  half -past  one.  The 
minister's  anxiety  was  above  all  meats,  and  in  his 
curiosity  to  know  what  had  happened  he  forgot  the 
sainted  martyr  below  stairs. 

"Well,  is  he  willing,  my  dear?" 

Gabrielle  drew  a  chair  to  the  table;  she  carried  a 
couple  of  letters  in  her  hand,  and  glanced  at  their 
envelopes  while  she  spoke. 

"Oh,  my  dear  father,  it  was  quite  hopeless." 

Silvester  sighed,  and  took  up  his  knife  and  fork. 
It  was  a  terrible  descent  from  the  millennium  to  mut- 
ton ;  but,  after  all,  he  ate  but  to  live. 

"I  feared  it  would  be  so.  Well,  we  have  done  our 

30 


BETWEEN  HEAVEN  AND  EARTH        31 

best,  and  that  is  something.  Did  he  give  you  any 
reasons  ?" 

"One  tremendous  reason — he  calls  it  human  nature." 

Silvester  helped  her  to  a  fair  cut  and  himself  to 
two.  He  was  already  eating  when  he  took  up  the 
subject  again. 

"This  movement  will  be  stronger  than  his  argument," 
he  said.  "What  people  call  human  nature  is  often 
Httle  more  than  the  animal  instinct.  I  can  conceive  no 
nobler  mission  for  any  man.  We  cannot  expect  this 
particular  class  of  man  to  see  eye  to  eye  with  us." 

"There  was  never  any  chance  of  it,  father.  He 
believes  that  war  is  the  will  of  God,  and  he  does  not 
hesitate  to  say  so." 

"Would  he  have  us  to  believe  that  typhoid  fever  is 
the  will  of  God — or  smallpox  ?  We  are  stamping  those 
out.  Why  not  the  greater  plague?" 

Gabrielle  sighed. 

"I  wish  you  had  been  there  to  argue  with  him, 
father.  A  girl  is  at  such  a  disadvantage.** 

"Naturally,  with  such  a  man.  I  don't  suppose  John 
Faber  ever  knew  one  really  human  weakness  since  he 
was  a  child.  Did  he  say  anything  about  me,  by  the 
way?" 

"He  mentioned  you  several  times.  I  told  him 
about  the  call  to  Yonkers." 

The  minister's  eyes  sparkled. 

"That  is  a  subject  I  would  gladly  take  his  advice 
upon.  What  did  he  say  about  it?" 

"Very  little,  I  think." 

"Was  it  favourable  to  my  going?" 

"I  don't  think  he  expressed  an  opinion  either  way." 


32  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"It  would  have  been  a  great  help  to  me  had  he  done 
so.  Sometimes  I  feel  that  I  have  a  great  work  to  do 
in  America.  This  Peace  Movement  is  the  finest  thing 
in  the  story  of  the  whole  world.  Christ  Himself  has 
taught  us  no  more  beautiful  idea — His  own,  as  we 
must  admit.  There  is  a  true  sentiment  in  America; 
but  a  pretence  of  it  here,  I  fear." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  of  that,  father?" 

"Of  what,  my  dear?" 

"Of  the  true  sentiment  in  America.  Mr.  Faber 
said  on  the  ship  that  he  hoped  to  sell  five  hundred 
thousand  rifles  for  Mexico  before  the  trouble  was  over. 
Is  that  a  true  sentiment?" 

"I  believe  it  very  foreign  to  the  real  wishes  of  the 
American  people." 

"He  doesn't;  neither  do  the  Germans.  They  say 
all  this  talk  of  arbitration  is  so  much  humbug  to  pre- 
vent us  adding  to  our  navy,  and  to  allow  President 
iTaft  to  occupy  Mexico." 

"That  is  in  the  yellow  press,  my  dear;  you  should 
not  listen  to  it." 

"Anyway,  Sir  Jules  Achon  thinks  it  true.  May  I 
read  Eva's  letter?  I  expect  she  reminds  me  of  my 
promise  to  go  there  to-day." 

"You  know  that  we  have  a  meeting  of  the  Girls' 
Friendly  Committee  to-night?" 

"Oh,  father,  can't  they  do  without  me  for  once  ?  I 
don't  often  stay  away." 

He  helped  himself  to  an  apple  tart,  and  made  no 
reply.  Gabrielle  read  her  letter,  and  her  cheeks  flamed 
with  excitement. 

"What  do  you  think?"   she  said.     "Sir  Jules  is 


BETWEEN  HEAVEN  AND  EARTH        33 

going  on  his  yacht  to  Corfu,  and  he  wishes  me  to  go 
with  them." 

"To  go  upon  his  yacht!"  The  astonishment  was 
very  natural.  "That  is  very  kind  of  him." 

"Douglas  Renshaw  is  going,  and  Dr.  Burrall.  Eva 
says  they  will  call  at  Lisbon  and  Gibraltar,  and  per- 
haps at  Genoa.  What  a  splendid  trip!" 

Her  eyes  were  very  bright  with  the  vision,  and  her 
lips  parted  in  excitement.  Not  only  was  this  a  respite 
from  the  monotonous  days,  but  a  respite  which  she 
would  consider  regal.  She  was  going  upon  a  pilgrim- 
age into  the  old  world  as  she  had  gone  into  the  new. 
And  with  the  promise  there  flashed  upon  her  mind  a 
memory  of  John  Faber's  wager.  He  would  meet  her 
in  Paris  or  Berlin ! 

"It  is  indeed  a  very  remarkable  opportunity,"  said 
her  father  presently.  "Sir  Jules  Achon  is  a  greater 
man  than  your  American.  He  has  more  ballast,  and 
iquite  as  much  money." 

"And  he  has  not  come  to  Europe  to  marry  an  Eng- 
lish woman." 

The  minister  looked  at  her  covertly.  A  secret 
thought  which  had  sent  her  to  the  Savoy  Hotel  whis- 
pered an  accusation  in  his  ear,  and  found  him  guilty. 
He  would  have  given  much  to  know  just  what  passed 
between  Gabrielle  and  John  Faber.  Perhaps  he  saw 
also  that  his  daughter  had  never  looked  so  well.  Un- 
doubtedly she  was  a  beautiful  woman. 

"Yes,"  he  saiJ  at  last;  "I  don't  think  Sir  Jules 
will  marry.  You  must  accept  this  invitation,  Ga- 
brielle," 

"But  what  am  I  to  do  for  frocks?" 


34.  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"Can't  you  wear  those  you  took  to  America?" 

"My  dear  father,  they  were  mostly  summer 
dresses." 

"Well,  Corfu  is  a  summer  resort.  I  forget  what 
the  winter  temperature  is — something  abnormal.  Un- 
fortunately, they  have  just  opened  a  gambling  saloon 
there.  Wherever  nature  is  most  beautiful,  there  men 
turn  their  backs  upon  her." 

"Sir  Jules  is  hardly  likely  to  do  that.  He  is  going 
to  Corfu  to  try  to  meet  the  German  Emperor.  You 
know  he  has  a  great  idea — the  Federation  of  Europe. 
He  says  that  commerce  is  the  only  key  to  the  peace 
of  the  world." 

"A  faith  rather  in  the  Jews  than  the  Divine  gos- 
pels." 

"Oh!  I  think  not — a  faith  in  good  common  sense, 
father." 

Silvester  shook  his  head. 

"He  will  not  associate  himself  with  us,"  he  said, 
a  little  sadly.  And  then,  "They  tell  me  he  is  a  very 
rich  man." 

"Just  the  reason  why  I  must  have  some  frocks  if 
I  go  to  Corfu." 

II 

She  was  not  to  leave  for  Richmond  until  the  end  of 
the  week,  and  when  lunch  was  over  she  was  reminded 
of  Harry  Lassett's  promise  by  the  advent  of  that 
boisterous  sportsman  and  his  expressed  determination 
to  take  her  at  once  to  the  Vale  of  Health  pond,  where 
the  ice  was  "top-notch."  There  Gabrielle  found  her- 


BETWEEN  HEAVEN  AND  EARTH        35 

self  amid  a  knot  of  very  suburban  but  friendly  people, 
whose  noisy  cordiality  forced  her  to  remember  that 
this  rather  than  the  other  was  her  true  sphere. 

Harry  Lassett  had  been  down  to  St.  James's  Street 
to  get  her  skates,  and  they  fitted  her  to  perfection. 
The  scene  was  inspiriting  and  full  of  colour.  All 
about  them  lay  the  whitened  heath;  London  beneath 
a  veil  of  sunlit  fog  in  the  hollow.  So  keen  was  the 
splendid  air  that  every  nerve  reverberated  at  its  breath. 
Such  frost  had  not  been  known  in  England  since  oxen 
were  roasted  whole  upon  the  Thames  in  the  early 
days  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

She  was  a  good  skater,  and  had  often  accompanied 
Eva  Achon  to  Princes  during  the  previous  season. 
Harry  Lassett  waltzed  divinely,  and  while  waltzing 
upon  boards  was  anathema  to  Gordon  Silvester,  waltz- 
ing upon  the  ice  seemed  to  him  a  harmless  diversion. 
He  even  came  down  to  the  brink  of  the  pond  and 
watched  the  merry  throng  at  play;  but  that  was 
before  dusk  fell  and  the  great  bonfire  was  lighted,  and 
those  who  had  merely  clasped  hands  discovered  that 
a  more  binding  link  was  necessary.  Silvester  saw 
nothing  of  the  outrageous  flirtations.  He  would  have 
been  sadly  distressed  had  he  known  that  Gabrielle 
herself  was  among  the  number  of  the  sinners.  She 
was,  in  fact,  one  of  the  ringleaders. 

Why  should  she  not  have  been?  What  pages  of 
her  life  written  in  the  dark  room  of  a  shabby  parson- 
age forbade  that  freshet  of  a  young  girl's  spirit,  here 
gushing  from  the  wells  of  convention  which  so  long 
had  preserved  it?  Silvester,  all  said  and  done,  was 
just  a  successful  Congregational  minister.  His  sin- 


36  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

cerity  and  natural  gifts  of  eloquence  had  pushed  him 
into  the  first  rank  of  well-advertised  special  pleaders. 
By  this  cause  and  that,  the  doors  had  been  opened 
to  him;  and  with  him  went  Gabrielle  to  the  ethical 
fray.  If  her  heart  remained  with  those  whom  the 
world  would  have  called  "her  equals,"  she  was  but 
obeying  the  fundamental  laws  of  human  nature.  Mil- 
lionaires and  their  palaces;  my  lord  this  and  my  lord 
that,  thrust  into  the  chair  of  a  cause  for  which  they 
did  not  care  a  snap  of  the  fingers — what  had  Sil- 
vester's house  in  common  with  them?  Reason  an- 
swered nothing;  he  himself  would  never  have  put  the 
question. 

So  here  was  Gabrielle  like  a  child  let  out  of  school. 
The  long  afternoon  found  her  pirouetting  with 
Harry  Lassett,  or  with  other  disorderly  young  men  of 
a  like  nature ;  the  swift  night  discovered  her  in  a  sen- 
timental mood,  with  all  thought  of  multi-millionaires 
gone  away  to  the  twinkling  stars.  A  brass  band  had 
begun  to  play  by  that  time,  and  a  man  was  selling 
baked  chestnuts.  A  pretty  contrast  that  to  the  Savoy 
Hotel. 

Their  talk  had  been  chiefly  ejaculatory  during  the 
afternoon,  but  the  twilight  found  them  mellowing. 
Harry  still  harped  upon  America,  and  with  some  dis- 
dain ;  and  now,  at  length,  his  contempt  found  expres- 
sion. 

"Did  you  see  that  American  chap  all  right?"  he 
asked  her  in  an  interval  of  the  riot. 

She  admitted  the  guilt  of  it. 

"Do  you  mean  Mr.  Faber?" 

"The  fellow  you  met  on  the  ship — Apollo  and  the 


BETWEEN  HEAVEN  AND  EARTH         37 

liar;  the  man  who  talked  about  eleven  millions  ster- 
ling." 

"Yes,  I  saw  him.  How  did  you  know  I  was, going?" 

"Oh!  I  was  in  the  Savoy  myself  this  morning.  I'm 
thinking  of  buying  the  place." 

"Then  you  propose  to  settle  down?" 

"Or  settle  up.  What  did  you  want  from  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  this  morning,  Gabrielle?" 

"An  impertinent  question.  Why  should  I  tell  you? 
Why  do  you  want  to  know?" 

"Because  I  have  the  right  to  know." 

"The  right,  Harry— the  right !" 

They  were  over  at  the  eastern  corner  of  the  pond, 
shadows  sheltering  them.  Harry  Lassett's  "six  foot 
one"  towered  above  her  five  feet  five,  and  made  a 
woman  of  her.  He  had  the  round,  "apple"  face  of 
a  boy  of  twenty-four,  vast  shoulders,  limbs  of  iron. 
His  eyes  were  clear  and  lustrous,  and  his  hair  jet  black. 
There  was  every  quality  which  makes  a  quick,  physi- 
cal appeal  to  the  other  sex,  and  now,  perhaps  not  for 
the  first  time,  Gabrielle  became  acutely  conscious  of 
it.  This  was  something  totally  apart  from  schemes 
for  the  world's  good;  something  with  which  million- 
aires, were  they  British  or  American,  had  no  concern 
whatever.  Ten  years  of  a  boy  and  girl  friendship 
culminated  here.  She  tried  to  withdraw  her  fingers 
from  Harry's  grasp,  but  could  not  release  herself ;  his 
breath  was  hot  upon  her  forehead ;  she  quivered  at  his 
touch,  and  then  stood  very  still. 

"Why  have  I  not  got  the  right?  Who  hts  if  I 
haven't?" 

"The  right  to  what?" 


38 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"To  warn  Apollo  off.  Gabrielle,  I'm  in  love  with 
you — you  know  it." 

She  looked  up;  his  eyes  devoured  her. 

"What  is  the  good  of  our  being  in  love?" 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  thinking  of  the 
beastly  money?" 

"Harry!" 

"Well,  then,  don't  ask  me.  I've  three  hundred  a 
year,  and  I'm  going  with  Barlean  in  Throgmorton 
Street  when  the  cricket  season's  over.  That's  a  half- 
commission  job,  and  my  cricketing  friends  will  rally 
round.  If  I  tour  Australia  next  year,  they'll  pay 
my  expenses,  and  I'll  make  them  pretty  hot.  We  could 
be  married  when  I  come  back,  Gabrielle." 

She  laughed,  and  half  turned  her  head. 

"It's  quite  like  a  fairy  story.  And  so  mercenary! 
It's  just  like  a  business  deal." 

"Well,  your  father  will  ask  for  a  balance  sheet, 
and  there  it  is — totted  up  by  'Why  not'  and  audited 
by  'Expectation.'  Why  don't  you  say  something 
about  it?" 

"Do  you  want  me  to  say  that  you  will  always  be 
my  best  friend?" 

"Family  Reading — go  on.  Love  and  respect  and 

esteem.  I'm  d d  if  I  stand  it.  This  is  what  I 

think." 

He  slipped  his  arms  about  her,  and  kissed  her  hotly 
upon  the  lips.  She  had  never  been  kissed  by  a  man 
before,  and  the  swift  assault  found  her  without  argu- 
ment. She  was  conscious  in  a  vague  way  that  pru- 
dence should  have  made  an  end  of  all  this  upon  the 
spot.  Yet  there  was  a  physical  magnetism  before 


BETWEEN  HEAVEN  AND  EARTH        39 

which  she  was  powerless;  an  instantaneous  revelation 
of  life  in  its  fuller  meaning,  of  a  sentiment  which  had 
nothing  to  do  with  prudence. 

"Harry!"  she  cried,  and  that  was  all. 

"Gabrielle,  you  love  me — I  feel  that  you  do  when 
you  are  near  me." 

"How  foolish  it  all  is — how  mad !" 

"I  won't  have  that  rot.  Why,  you  are  part  of 
my  life,  Gabrielle." 

"Of  course,  we  are  very  old  friends " 

"If  you  say  any  word  like  that  I  will  take  you 
out  into  the  very  centre  of  the  pond  and  kiss  you 
there.  Come  along  and  skate  now.  I  feel  quite 
mad." 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  they  went  whirling 
away.  The  red-nosed  man  with  the  cornet  played  the 
"Merry  Widow"  until  his  whole  body  swelled;  there 
were  harsh  tones  of  cockneyism,  silver  laughter  of 
boys  and  girls,  the  whirr  of  good  skates  cutting  the 
ice.  And  above  all  a  clear,  starless  heaven,  such  as 
London  had  not  known  for  many  a  year. 

"How  long  will  you  be  away  with  these  Achon 
people,  Gabrielle?" 

"I  don't  know;  we  are  going  to  Corfu  to  see  the 
German  Emperor." 

"Don't  bring  him  back  with  you.  He'd  never  get 
on  with  fools.  Isn't  it  all  rather  out  of  the  picture?" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Harry?"     . 

"Well,  your  trotting  about  with  millionaires,  hang- 
ing on  to  the  skirts  of  other  people's  ambitions.  It 
can't  last  Some  day  soon,  these  doors  will  be  shut. 
There'll  be  nobody  at  home  when  you  call." 


40  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"That  would  not  trouble  me.  I  go  because  my 
father  wishes  it;  and,  of  course,  I  like  Eva." 

"She's  rather  a  jolly  girl,  isn't  she?  They're  a 
different  class  to  that  Faber  man.  He's  just  an  ad- 
venturer." 

"Who  has  managed  to  make  himself  necessary  to 
two  continents.  I  wish  you  knew  him.  You'd  be  the 
first  to  bow  down." 

"To  eleven  millions!  I  might  if  he  handed  over 
one  of  them.  That  must  be  the  fly  in  his  ointment. 
I  don't  suppose  he  has  a  friend  in  the  world  who 
doesn't  want  to  get  something  out  of  him." 

"Do  you  include  me  in  that  category?" 

"Well,  you  wanted  his  name.  I  knew  he'd  laugh 
at  all  that  peace  rot.  It's  the  greatest  humbug  of  the 
twentieth  century,  and  I  admire  the  German  Emperor 
for  his  courage.  He  and  Kitchener  are  the  two  great- 
est men  in  the  world  to-day.  Now,  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"I  don't  think  anything  of  the  kind.  If  there  is 
any  one  conviction  in  my  life  that  is  sincere  it  is  this. 
You  know  it,  Harry." 

She  was  very  earnest,  and  he  would  not  wound  her. 
Gabrielle  Silvester  could  dream  dreams,  and  some 
of  them  would  put  great  intellects  to  shame.  Harry 
knew  this  and  admired  her  in  the  mood;  he  altered 
his  own  course  at  once. 

"Of  course  I  know  it.  But  tell  me,  what  did  Faber 
say?" 

"Oh,  very  little — he  spoke  about  the  frost." 

"Wants  to  skate  with  you,  eh?" 

"I  think  not.  He  is  full  of  bogies.  The  English 
Channel  and  the  North  Sea  are  to  be  frozen  over." 


BETWEEN  HEAVEN  AND  EARTH        41 

"Great  idea  that.  We  shall  skate  all  the  way  to 
Paris !  Dine  at  the  Ritz  and  curl  afterwards.  What 
a  man!" 

"No,  really — what  he  fears  is  a  panic  in  England 
if  the  sea  should  really  freeze." 

Harry  thought  about  it  for  some  minutes  in  silence. 
Presently  he  said: 

"I  don't  believe  it  could  happen.  He  was  chaffing 
you." 

"I  think  he  was." 

"But  if  it  did  happen — by  gad!  what  a  funk  some 
people  would  be  in!" 

"The  valiant  people — who  believe  in  war  in  the  ab- 
stract." 

"Now  you're  ironical,  Gabrielle." 

"No,"  she  said;  "I'm  only  hungry." 

Ill 

It  was  very  dark  in  Well  Walk  when  they  arrived 
before  her  father's  house. 

Harry  had  fallen  to  a  sentimental  mood,  and  would 
talk  about  their  future  just  as  though  it  had  all  been 
settled  in  the  beginning  of  things,  and  was  as  unalter- 
able as  the  course  of  the  planets.  She  began  to  think 
that  his  love  for  her  was  very  real,  and  not  a  mere 
ebullition  of  a  boyish  sentiment.  Long  years  of  her 
childhood  seemed  to  be  lived  again  as  he  put  his  arm 
about  her  and  told  her  of  his  happiness. 

"You  knew  it  all  the  time,  Gabrielle.  You  never 
had  any  doubt  about  it.  Of  course,  I  loved  you.  Tell 
me  so  yourself.  Let  me  see  it  in  your  eyes." 


SWORDS  RELUCTANT 


She  laughed,  and  told  him,  as  the  situation  seemed 
to  require,  not  to  be  foolish. 

"Father  will  be  waiting  for  me.  What  shall  I  say 
to  him?" 

"That  I  am  going  to  marry  you  directly  I  return 
from  the  Australian  tour." 

"Why  frighten  him  prematurely?  There  are  thou- 
sands of  pretty  girls  in  Australia." 

"That's  beastly  of  you.  Deny  it,  or  I  will  kiss 
you  again." 

"Oh,  Harry,  my  cheeks  will  be  so  red." 

"Say  it's  the  frost.  I  must  kiss  you,  Gabrielle. 
There  —  little  cat!  Why  do  you  wrestle  with  me?" 

"Because  I  feel  that  we  are  just  two  children  play- 
ing." 

"But  you'll  never  play  with  any  other  child  —  swear 
that  to  me,  Gabrielle." 

"My  dear  Harry,  that  would  be  the  most  childish 
thing  of  all.  Now,  you  must  say  good-night,  I  hear 
my  father." 

He  held  her  for  an  instant  in  his  arms,  and  she 
trembled.  When  at  length  he  strode  off  in  his  master- 
ful and  imperious  way,  her  father  stood  in  the  porch 
and  called  her.  He  had  seen  nothing  of  this  curiously 
"worldly"  scene,  and  was  full  of  a  letter  he  had  just 
received  from  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  This 
invited  him  to  a  Conference  at  the  Mansion  House, 
and  he  pointed  out  with  satisfaction  that  it  had  been 
written  at  the  archiepiscopal  palace  at  Lambeth. 

"This  movement  may  not  bring  all  the  nations  in, 
or  make  them  dwell  together  in  harmony  and  peace, 
he  said,  "but  it  will  certainly  bring  peace  to  the 


BETWEEN  HEAVEN  AND  EARTH        43 

churches.  Of  course,  they  will  ask  me  to  speak, 
Gabrielle." 

"When  is  it  for,  father?"  she  asked  him. 

"In  ten  days'  time — at  the  Mansion  House." 

"You  will  have  to  get  a  typewriter;  I  shall  be  at 
Richmond." 

"I  think  it  is  better.  I  should  not  like  Sir  Jules 
or  Mr.  Faber  to  know  that  you  do  such  work,  Ga- 
brielle." 

"Oh,"  she  said  with  a  light  laugh,  "I  don't  think 
they  would  be  shocked,  father.  They  are  both  self- 
made  men." 

"Yes,  but  self-made  men  rarely  like  self-made 
women.  It's  the  way  of  the  world.  If  we  go  to 
America " 

"But  you  do  not  intend  to  accept  the  call  from 
Yonkers,  father?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"A  man  might  do  a  great  work  over  there.  My 
imagination  is  sorely  tempted.  I  am  altogether  at  a 
loss." 

She  was  too  tired  to  take  up  the  ancient  arguments 
which  this  threadbare  question  had  provoked.  Later 
on,  in  her  own  bedroom,  she  sat  before  a  brisk  fire,  and 
tried  to  take  stock  of  the  varied  events  of  that  busy 
day. 

Vaguely  out  of  the  mists  there  emerged  the  truth, 
that  two  men  had  made  love  to  her,  and  that  one  was 
a  man  who  might  presently  rule  the  Western  world. 
She  could  look  down  a  vista  of  fable  land  to  a  future 
surpassing  all  expectations  of  her  dreams,  and  believe 
that  at  a  word  she  might  enter  in.  The  obverse  of 


44 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

the  medal  was  Harry  Lassett  and  the  story  of  her 
youth.  This  lad  had  crept  into  the  secret  places  of 
her  heart.  She  still  trembled  at  a  memory  of  his 
kisses.  With  him,  life  would  be  meticulous — a  villa 
and  a  trim  maidservant.  His  scheme  of  things  could 
embrace  no  great  idea ;  and  yet  he,  too,  was  a  popular 
hero,  and  great  throngs  would  go  to  Lords  to  see  him 
play.  Gabrielle  knew  that  she  loved  him;  but  she 
doubted  if  her  love  would  prove  as  strong  as  the 
dreams. 

It  was  midnight  when  she  undressed. 

The  weather  had  turned  much  warmer.  She  opened 
her  window  to  discover  that  it  was  snowing,  and  that 
the  snow  melted  as  it  fell. 

The  fables  were  already  discredited.  It  seemed 
almost  an  omen. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   BEGINNING   OF   THE   ODYSSEY 


Bertie  Morris  was  a  very  fair  type  of  the  Ameri- 
can journalist,  whose  body  goes  to  Paris  while  he 
lives,  whatever  may  happen  to  his  soul  at  a  later  pe- 
riod. 

Thirty-one  years  of  age,  he  knew  the  world  back- 
wards ;  was  as  much  at  home  in  Port  Said  as  in  Phila- 
delphia; wrote  as  though  kings  were  his  boon  com- 
panions and  had  settled  the  hash  of  more  than  one 
intrepid  lady  with  polyandric  tendencies.  The  prod- 
uct is  purely  twentieth  century,  and  frequently  has 
flaxen  hair.  Bertie  was  becoming  bald  in  the  services 
of  the  New  York  Mitre.  He  was  blessed  with  a  pro- 
prietor who  would  have  drawn  blood  out  of  a  stone 
and  then  complained  of  its  quality. 

When  John  Faber  left  London,  he  went  straight 
through  to  Paris,  and  there  chose  Bertie  Morris  for 
his  guide.  This  young  man  had  specialised  in  the 
Franco-German  war,  and  knew  the  whole  story  of  the 
Paris  Commune  intimately.  Fired  by  the  splendid 
opportunity  of  hob-nobbing  with  one  of  the  richest 
men  in  the  world  (and  of  eating  his  dinners),  Bertie 
set  out  gaily  upon  his  fortunate  pilgrimage.  He  had 

45 


46  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

hired  an  old  soldier,  by  name  Picard,  who  had  served 
under  General  d'Arny  when  that  worthy  shot  down 
the  revolutionaries  as  though  they  had  been  French 
partridges;  and  with  this  fellow  for  a  guide,  he  and 
John  Faber  set  off  for  Belleville  and  Vincennes. 

Bertie's  vocabulary,  it  should  be  said,  was  chiefly 
exclamatory  when  he  was  not  translating.  He  was 
a  fluent  Frenchman,  and  had  an  uncommonly  sound 
knowledge  of  his  subject.  Listening  to  him  in  more 
restrained  moods,  Faber  lived  again  those  bloody 
days  which  had  cost  his  father  his  life,  and  indirectly 
had  established  his  own  fortune.  All  the  ferocity, 
the  savage  brutality,  the  hopeless  idealism  of  the 
Commune  came  to  be  understood  by  him.  Here  had 
the  trade  by  which  he  lived  prospered  greatly.  It 
had  dyed  those  stones  with  blood  some  forty  years 
ago. 

"Say,  shall  we  begin  with  Belleville  or  the  Bois?" 
Morris  had  asked  him.  He  thought  that  it  would  be 
best  to  work  round  the  city  to  his  father's  old  house 
near  the  Jardin  du  Luxembourg.  But  first  he  had 
a  question  to  put. 

"What  I  want  to  know  is  this,"  he  asked:  "How 
did  it  all  begin?  What  set  a  handful  of  red  republi- 
cans trying  to  fight  a  country?  It's  a  big  thing  to 
have  done,  anyway.  What  put  it  into  their  heads?" 

Bertie  Morris  liked  the  subject,  and  entered  upon 
it  with  true  American  zest. 

"Why,"  he  said,  "war  was  at  the  back  of  it.  You've 
seen  the  same  thing  in  Russia.  Peace  keeps  the  lid 
on  the  pot  of  revolution;  war  spills  the  stew.  There 
were  just  two  or  three  hundred  thousand  descendants 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  ODYSSEY      47 

of  the  old  Jacobins  in  Paris,  and  when  Napoleon  III. 
was  sent  into  Germany,  they  made  up  their  minds 
to  keep  him  there.  Directly  peace  with  Germany  was 
signed,  all  the  wild  men  came  out.  You  had  every 
kind  of  crank  and  others.  There  were  big  men  and 
little,  dreamers  and  red  devils;  they  meant  to  govern 
Paris  on  the  'help  yourself  plan,  and  they  didn't 
begin  so  badly.  But  for  Thiers  and  a  few  million  sane 
folk  behind  him,  I  don't  doubt  they  would  have 
enjoyed  themselves  finely.  As  it  was,  what  they 
divided  were  bayonets,  and  there  were  plenty  to  go 
round." 

He  rattled  on,  appealing  often  to  the  old  soldier 
Picard  and  proud  of  his  staccato  knowledge.  Faber 
listened  with  interest  but  said  very  little.  He  was 
trying,  while  they  drove  through  the  narrow  streets 
to  Pere  la  Chaise,  to  realise  what  this  Paris  had  been 
when  his  father  lived  and  worked  in  it  during  the 
fateful  years  before  the  war  of  1870.  The  first  John 
Faber  also  had  been  something  of  a  republican;  had 
dreamed  dreams  of  the  millennium  and  of  the  rights 
of  the  proletariat.  And  the  French  had  dragged  him 
out  and  shot  him  for  his  pains.  He  had  died  pro- 
testing that  he  was  an  American  citizen. 

A  big  Mercedes  car  carried  the  pilgrims  upon  this 
journey,  and  its  welcome  in.  the  black  streets  of  Belle- 
ville was  not  blandly  enthusiastic.  Blue  blouses  at 
the  doors  of  the  wine  shops  spat  upon  the  pavement 
and  cursed  the  bourgeoisie;  coarse  women  with  skirts 
hanging  about  them  like  rags  laughed  brutalities  and 
flung  indecencies  after  them.  There  were  pale-faced 
Apaches  and  white  and  callous  children.  It  was  in- 


48  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

evitable  that  these  should  suggest  their  forbears  of 
,1870,  and  even  the  old  soldier  remarked  the  fact: 

"They  would  burn  Paris  again  to-morrow,  mes- 
sieurs— as  I  have  seen  it  burned  already.  Ah!  the 
terrible  days !" 

He  tried  to  give  them  a  picture  of  the  fateful  week 
— the  last  of  the  month  of  May  and  of  the  Commune. 
The  Communards  had  been  driven  into  the  eastern 
labyrinth  of  the  city  then,  he  said,  and  in  the  anger 
of  defeat  had  sent  their  women  forth  to  burn  this 
Paris  which  could  not  defend  them.  Since  Nero  fid- 
dled, no  such  spectacle  had  been  seen  in  Europe.  The 
old  man  told  them  the  story  with  eyes  uplifted  and 
hands  clenched.  He  had  become  as  a  child,  and  these 
were  the  scenes  of  his  youth. 

"It  was  on  the  Tuesday  night  that  they  burned 
the  palace  of  the  Tuileries,"  he  said.  "The  women 
went  out  with  naphtha;  I  saw  them  running  like 
devils  through  the  streets  and  crying  to  one  another 
to  fire  the  houses.  The  day  before  that,  the  Hotel  de 
Ville  flamed  up.  They  say  it  was  an  accident,  but — 
God  knows.  The  'Council  of  State,'  the  Bank,  the 
Bourse,  the  Church  of  St.  Eustache,  all  were  burned 
those  terrible  days.  There  was  one  bank  of  the  river 
a  wall  of  fire  on  the  Wednesday  night;  a  man  could 
have  read  his  paper  at  Passy.  It  was  as  light  as  day, 
they  told  me,  in  the  park  at  Versailles.  All  the  streets 
were  full  of  wild,  screaming  people;  but  if  you  went 
a  little  way  toward  the  Bois  you  heard  the  cannon, 
you  stumbled  over  the  dead.  What  a  butchery  was 
that,  messieurs!  God  help  those  who  went  out  of 
their  houses  to  see  what  the  soldiers  vrere  doing! 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  ODYSSEY     49 

Ladmirault,  Galifet,  Vinot,  Cissey — those  were  the 
names  of  the  generals.  They  held  their  courts  under 
the  trees,  in  the  cafes,  at  the  street  corners.  It  was 
sufficient  to  have  worn  a  blouse,  to  be  sorry  for  the 
dead,  to  express  displeasure  at  what  was  being  done — 
away  went  such  a  man  or  woman  to  the  nearest  wall. 
We  are  now  coming  to  the  Rue  Lafayette.  I  was  in 
this  very  street  when  my  company  seized  the  Com- 
munard, Varlin,  and  dragged  him  up  to  the  Buttes 
Montmartre.  They  tied  his  hands  behind  his  back 
and  cut  his  face  with  their  sabres  while  he  walked.  It 
was  a  horrible  thing  to  see,  messieurs !  When  he  could 
no  longer  walk,  they  carried  him  until  someone  thought 
it  time  to  kill  him  with  the  butt  end  of  a  musket. 
They  say  he  was  the  cleverest  member  of  the  Com- 
mune— I  do  not  know;  I  was  only  of  the  infantry 
of  the  line,  and  their  politics  did  not  concern  me." 

Faber  listened  to  all  this  with  the  interest  of  a 
man  who  is  obsessed  by  one  dominating  idea.  This 
Commune  had  been  the  first  attempt  in  modern  times 
to  set  up  the  socialism  of  Marx — and  in  what  had  it 
ended?  In  a  deluge  of  blood,  and  the  derision  of  all 
sane  people.  He  wondered  what  would  have  been 
the  modern  story  of  Paris  if  Felix  Pyat  and  his  fel- 
lows had  been  stronger  than  Thiers  and  the  Versail- 
lese.  A  consummate  knowledge  of  modern  politics 
reminded  him  that  the  blue  blouses  of  France  were  still 
socialistic  to  the  core,  and  that  individualism  sat  upon 
a  throne  of  straw.  He  had  often  thought  that  such 
fortunes  as  his  own  would  never  be  made  by  genera* 
tions  to  come;  but  that  concerned  him  little,  for  he 
had  no  children.  The  reflection  brought  an  image  of 


50 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

Gabrielle  Silvester  to  his  mind.  It  was  odd  that  he 
should  think  of  her  while  the  old  soldier  related  these 
bloody  scenes. 

Bertie  Morris,  on  the  other  hand,  enjoyed  himself 
immensely.  He  drove  his  tame  millionaire  as  far  up 
the  Butte  as  he  could,  and  even  took  him  to  the  Rue 
Lepic  and  the  Moulin  de  la  Galette.  He  was  a  prize 
to  be  shown  to  artists  and  authors,  poor  devils  who 
would  dine  that  night  for  fifty  sous  and  sell  their 
masterpieces  for  as  many  to-morrow.  This  pilgrim- 
age of  the  ateliers  was  not  unwelcome  to  Faber,  and 
was  made  at  his  own  request. 

"I  want  to  hear  of  a  man,"  he  said,  "Louis  de 
Paleologue  is  his  name." 

"Where  do  you  think  he  hides  up?"  Bertie  asked. 

Faber  said  that  he  had  no  idea. 

"He  was  drawing  for  Gavarnie  some  forty  years 
ago.  I've  never  heard  of  him  since,  and  I  wasn't 
born  then." 

"Say,  that's  simple.  Has  he  any  grandfathers 
alive?" 

"It's  a  fine  story,"  was  the  quiet  response.  "I 
only  learned  it  a  year  or  two  back,  when  I  found  some 
of  my  mother's  papers.  Louis  de  Paleologue  was  the 
man  who  took  her  over  to  America  when  General 
d'Arny  shot  my  father.  There  was  a  pile  of  corre- 
spondence between  them,  and  it  does  the  man  great 
credit.  If  I  find  him  living  I'll  give  him  a  million 
dollars,  if  he'll  take  them." 

Bertie  Morris  whistled. 

"You  don't  suggest  a  preliminary  canter.  Why 
not  try  it  on  the  dog?  He's  willing." 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  ODYSSEY      51 

"Most  dogs  are.  My  world  is  all  barking.  You 
find  Paleologue  for  me,  and  see  what  Father  Christ- 
mas puts  in  your  stocking.  He's  the  only  man  in 
Europe  I  ever  did  want  to  see  outside  my  own  busi- 
ness. It's  natural  that  I  can't  find  him." 

"Can  you  tell  me  anything  about  him?  Where  did 
he  live?  What  was  he?  For  whom  did  he  work? 
I'm  right  out  for  this,  Mr.  Faber." 

Faber  smiled. 

"He  was  an  artist  who  drew  small  pictures  with 
a  large  genius.  They  say  he  worked  for  Hachette. 
The  last  letters  speaks  of  his  marriage — it  must  have 
been  written  many  years  ago.  I  cabled  to  Paris  when 
it  came  into  my  hands,  and  the  answer  back  from 
your  office  was  that  he  had  gone  to  the  East.  That 
means  Paleologue  was  a  Roumanian,  and  he's  gone 
home.  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  follow  him." 

"It  would  be  a  bully  trip,  anyway.  Why  not  do 
the  Balkans  in  a  motor?  There  was  a  chap  here  last 
month  who  had  just  come  back.  They  didn't  shoot 
him  this  time." 

"Well,  I  guess  they  won't  shoot  me,  either.  I'm 
buying  a  yacht  directly.  Now,  let's  go  and  lunch. 
Your  young  Raphaels  are  rather  greasy.  I  think  I'd 
like  to  wash." 

II 

THEY  lunched  near  the  Bourse,  in  a  flaring  cafe 
whither  the  jobbers  resorted.  There  were  a  few  con- 
spicuous women  of  the  company,  loudly  dressed  and 
aggressive  in  the  true  spirit  of  their  commercial  pa- 


52  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

Irons.  These  liked  neither  English  nor  Americans, 
and  said  so  by  face  and  gesture.  The  jobbers  them- 
selves looked  a  gloomy  troop,  though  whether  de- 
pressed by  their  hopes  of  gain  or  surety  of  loss  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  say.  Had  they  known 
that  John  Sebastian  Faber  sat  cheek  by  jowl  with 
them,  it  would  have  been  another  story.  How  many 
a  time  had  he,  from  his  distant  office  in  New  York, 
set  that  same  market  hoarse  with  excitement,  rilled 
the  streets  with  bawling  madmen,  and  put  ropes  of 
pearls  about  the  necks  of  the  cocottes  who  now  made 
inelegant  grimaces  at  him  when  the  clients  had  their 
backs  turned.  He  thought  of  it  with  some  pleasure 
over  a  sole  meringue.  They  would  have  been  down 
upon  him  like  a  pack  of  wolves  had  they  known  him. 

Bertie  Morris  enjoyed  his  dejeuner  with  the  satis- 
1  faction  of  a  man  who  knows  he  is  not  paying  for  it. 
He  had  a  programme  for  the  afternoon,  which  was 
to  be  capped  by  a  dinner  at  the  Ritz  Hotel,  also  at 
Faber's  expense.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  he 
was  not  putting  his  companion  under  a  large  obliga- 
tion, and  the  whole  tone  of  his  talk  was  autocratic, 
as  one  who  should  say,  "I  open  all  doors." 

"We'll  trot  out  to  the  Avenue  de  Nancy  and  see 
where  the  Versaillese  came  in,"  he  put  it  cheerfully. 
"It  was  on  a  Sunday,  Picard  tells  me,  and  the  frater- 
nity lot  got  a  few  shells  for  breakfast.  They  had  just 
made  up  their  minds  that  the  millennium  had  come, 
when  Vinot  and  Ladmirault  turned  up  with  the  can- 
non. They  had  a  good  deal  in  common  afterwards — 
chiefly  explosive.  I'll  show  you  a  house  at  Passy  with 
a  shell  in  the  wall  over  the  front  door.  The  owner 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  ODYSSEY      53 

won't  have  it  touched.  It's  right  there,  just  where 
the  Versaillese  put  it." 

"A  kind  of  keepsake.  Do  they  remember  anything 
about  all  this  in  Paris  nowadays?" 

"On  the  first  of  May,  before  they  get  drunk.  I 
don't  think  it  comes  up  at  any  other  time.  The  cen- 
tury isn't  interested  overmuch  in  yesterday.  It's  all 
'to-morrow'  nowadays." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  quarrel  with  that.  Half  the 
people  would  commit  suicide  if  it  wasn't  for  to-mor- 
row. We're  a  sort  of  recurring  decimal,  but  we  don't 
believe  it." 

"Say,  then  you  don't  believe  overmuch  in  the 
'destiny'  department  ?" 

"I  do  not.  A  few  things  are  going  on  all  the  time 
— very  few.  The  civilization  of  Babylon  was  pretty 
much  the  civilization  of  Rome;  while  Rome  wasn't 
so  very  different  from  ourselves.  There's  a  little 
levelling  of  the  classes;  but  there's  no  longer  a  goal, 
either  in  heaven  or  hell.  That  means  a  soulless  peo- 
ple." 

"But  it  marches  all  the  same." 

"Where  science  leads  it.  There's  the  only  clear 
thinking.  What's  the  good  of  talking  when  men  don't 
know  why  they're  here,  or  what  they  are  ?  When  they 
had  heaven  and  hell,  they  thought  clearly  enough. 
Your  new  gospel  leads  them  into  a  morass.  It  couldn't 
very  well  lead  them  anywhere  else.  The  things  that 
go  on  evolve  as  we  ourselves  have  evolved.  All  the 
politicians,  parliaments,  philosophers  don't  help  them 
a  jot.  They  were  saying  the  same  thing  on  the  top 
of  monoliths  before  the  flood.  We  are  driven — but 


54 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

we  don't  know  why  or  whither  unless  we  believe,  as 
all  but  the  fools  have  believed,  by  Almighty  God." 

Bertie  Morris  helped  himself  to  an  orange  salad. 

"Say,  why  don't  you  write  all  this?" 

''Because  I've  something  better  to  do.  My  busi- 
ness is  to  make  guns  and  to  sell  'em." 

The  journalist  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"There  was  some  talk  of  a  big  contract  of  yours 
going  through  here.  Is  that  right  ?" 

"Ah!  you'd  pay  something  to  know — and  a  good 
many  more.  Did  they  couple  d'Arny  to  the  talk  ?" 

"Well,  it's  chiefly  up  to  him.  He's  a  lot  of  backers 
up  against  him  in  the  Chambers.  Jaures  says  he's 
corrupt." 

"He'd  have  to  be  in  his  job.  We're  all  corrupt, 
for  that  matter.  I  believe  that  Walpole's  right.  I'd 
buy  any  man  body  and  soul  for  a  price." 

"And  women  too — I  don't  think." 

Faber  laughed. 

"No  money  is  too  much  for  a  good  woman,"  he 
said. 


Ill 

They  followed  the  programme  afterwards,  driving 
right  round  the  Bois  and  returning  to  the  Jardin  du 
Luxembourg. 

The  day  had  fallen  bitterly  cold  again,  and  a  light 
snow  whitened  the  trees  in  the  famous  avenues.  Paris 
took  a  romantic  mantle  and  covered  her  pretty  shoul- 
ders daintily.  Habitues  fled  to  the  cafes  and  ensconced 
themselves  in  warm  corners:  fur-clad  women  sank 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  ODYSSEY      55 

deep  in  the  cushions  of  their  motors ;  there  were  ridicu- 
lously dressed  children  scampering  about  the  Bois 
and  crying,  "Dieu,  comme  il  fait  froid" — a  fairy-like 
scene  quite  characteristic  of  a  city  which  is  rarely 
serious,  and  then  tragically  so.  Through  this  Faber 
passed  to  his  father's  house.  He  had  become  silent 
and  preoccupied — a  man  of  few  emotions,  but  of  one 
which  had  never  been  absent  from  his  life. 

His  father!  How  often  he  had  tried  to  create  the 
living  man  from  the  insufficient  pictures  of  that  time! 

They  had  told  him  that  John  Faber  was  tall  and 
Saxon  haired — a  cheery,  business-like,  unobtrusive  fel- 
low, very  generous,  far-seeing  beyond  his  epoch..  He 
had  founded  the  house  of  Faber  at  Charleston,  and 
had  come  over  to  Europe  to  learn  Eastern  methods. 
He  was  in  Paris  for  the  purpose  of  studying  the  new 
French  artillery  when  the  war  broke  out,  and  had 
lived  for  three  months  there,  in  the  little  house  over- 
looking the  gardens  of  the  Luxembourg.  Such  was 
the  man  whom  General  d'Arny  had  shot  in  that  very 
street,  swearing  he  was  of  the  Communards.  A  fever 
of  anger  fell  suddenly  upon  the  son  as  he  remembered 
his  mother's  story.  Good  God,  his  own  father !  What 
years  of  affection  they  would  have  spent  together  but 
for  that  mad  ferocity  of  the  Commune!  How  the 
one  would  have  helped  the  other !  And  the  fortune- 
he  would  have  poured  it  into  his  father's  lap  and 
waited  for  his  words  of  pride.  His  father — shot  there 
in  that  silent  street — the  man  whom  his  mother  had 
loved  as  woman  rarely  has  loved  in  the  human  story. 

He  left  the  car  at  the  corner  by  the  Catholic  Insti- 
tute and  walked  down  the  Rue  d'Assas  to  its  June- 


56  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

tion  with  the  Rue  de  Fleurus.  Naturally,  the  condi- 
tion of  things  had  altered  very  much,  and  there  were 
many  new  buildings  in  the  vicinity.  He  discovered 
certain  landmarks,  but  others  had  vanished  into  the 
limbo  of  the  municipal  gods  and  trim  modern  "blocks" 
had  taken  their  places.  For  all  that,  he  believed  that 
he  could  identify  the  actual  house  in  which  these 
things  had  happened,  and  when  he  had  located  it,  he 
knocked  upon  the  door,  and  was  answered  by  a  trim 
old  woman,  who  seemed  much  put  out  at  the  occur- 
rence. Bertie  Morris  was  quite  equal  to  such  an  occa- 
sion. "Give  her  five  francs,"  he  said.  It  was  done 
immediately. 

"Who  lives  here  now,  madame  ?" 

"Monsieur  Brocas,  the  advocate — for  many  years, 
he  and  his  mother." 

"Is  he  at  home  ?" 

"He  is  at  Lyons,  m'sieur." 

"And  madame?" 

"She  is  in  the  south." 

"This  gentleman  with  me  is  an  American.  His 
father  and  mother  lived  here  forty  years  ago — before 
the  war.  Naturally,  he  would  very  much  like  to  see 
the  house." 

"What  is  his  name,  m'sieur?" 

Faber  told  her  himself,  and  the  tone  of  his  voice 
seemed  to  awaken  memories.  She  began  to  mumble 
something  in  the  argot  of  the  "Boul.  Mich,"  and  then 
bade  him  come  in.  The  room  clearly  belonged  to 
people  who  were  fond  of  books  when  at  home,  and 
neglectful  of  them  when  away.  It  was  all  very  untidy 
and  dusty ;  the  furniture  handsome,  but  shown  to  poor 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  ODYSSEY      57 

advantage.  The  very  first  thing  Faber  set  his  hand 
upon  was  a  volume  of  Hawthorne's  "House  of  the 
Seven  Gables."  His  father's  name  was  written  be- 
neath an  English  book-plate. 

"Tell  her,"  he  said  to  Morris,  "that  this  was  once 
my  father's  property." 

She  did  not  seem  at  all  interested,  but  she  avoided 
their  glances  nevertheless,  and  seemed  strangely  afraid 
of  them. 

"You  understand?"  said  Faber  at  last.  "My  fa- 
ther's book." 

She  nodded  and  answered  him,  to  his  surprise,  in 
broken  but  comprehensible  English. 

"I  was  your  mother's  servant  three  years,  m'sieur 
—a  very  little  child.  I  am  nearly  sixty  years  old,  but 
my  memory  is  good." 

"You  remember  my  father,  then?" 

"If  I  remember  him!  Do  children  forget  such 
things  ?" 

"Were  you  here  when  he  died,  madame  ?" 

She  clasped  her  hands  together  almost  as  one  in 
prayer.  Her  voice  was  a  sing-song,  like  that  of  a 
child  reciting  a  learned  lesson. 

"It  was  at  nine  o'clock  on  the  Friday  night.  Ah! 
what  a  day,  m'sieur!  There  had  been  cannon  since 
the  Sunday,  and  the  streets  full  of  mad  people.  I 
looked  down  from  my  window  and  saw  the  dead  car- 
ried away.  I  was  cold  with  a  child's  curiosity.  When 
night  came,  m'sieur  would  not  dine.  He  had  been 
out  all  day  helping  the  wounded,  and  all  he  would  take 
was  a  little  soup  and  wine.  Then  he  went  out  again 
while  madame  and  I  were  up  in  the  front  room  watch- 


58 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

ing  the  fires  burn  and  listening  to  the  cannon.  M'sieur, 
the  heavens  opened  that  night!  My  soul  shrank  at 
the  sight;  I  thought  the  end  of  the  world  had  come. 
And  I  was  but  a  child,  and  had  lived  such  a  little 
while." 

She  paused  and  breathed  almost  convulsively,  as 
though  suffering  the  terrible  hours  again.  Faber 
watched  her  without  flinching.  His  swift  imagina- 
tion moved  out  there  in  the  streets  where  his  father 
worked  amid  the  wounded. 

"And  afterwards,  madame — afterwards?"  said  Ber- 
tie Morris  in  French. 

She  looked  up  at  him  almost  angrily,  the  thread  of 
the  inspiration  of  memory  broken. 

"It  is  so  many  years  ago,  m'sieur.  I  remember 
badly." 

Faber  stepped  across  the  room  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  her  arm. 

"How  did  my  father  die,  madame?  Remember,  I 
am  his  son." 

"So  very  like  him,  m'sieur;  he  seems  to  stand  be- 
side me  once  more." 

"You  remember  the  night — you  cannot  have  for- 
gotten it?" 

"No,  no;  it  is  all  here.  The  heart  knows,  but  the 
tongue  will  not  speak." 

"Did  you  see  him  when  they  brought  him  in?" 

She  quivered,  as  though  the  scene  had  been  yester- 
night. 

"M'sieur,  it  passed  so  swiftly — death  came  to 
him  while  he  walked.  I  saw  Captain  d'Arny  upon  a 
white  horse — I  heard  m'sieur's  voice — how  well  I 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  ODYSSEY     59 

knew  it!  Then  someone  spoke  in  anger,  a  rifle  was 
fired,  madame  ran  from  me,  her  tears  choking  her 
so  that  she  could  not  speak  to  me.  They  brought 
monsieur  in  and  laid  him  on  the  sofa;  your  hand  is 
touching  it  now.  I  remember  that  his  hand  was  in 
madame's,  his  eyes  hurt  by  the  bright  light  of  the 
chandelier.  He  begged  for  a  little  wine  and  I  went 
to  the  buffet;  my  hand  shook,  and  I  could  not  open 
the  bottle.  When  we  had  found  a  glass  m'sieur  was 
dead.  How  shall  I  tell  you  more  ? — m'sieur  was  dead." 

Her  voice  died  down  almost  to  a  whisper;  none 
of  the  others  spoke  for  some  minutes.  It  was  still 
snowing,  and  a  black  cloud  was  over  the  city.  Faber 
thought  that  it  must  have  been  just  such  a  day  when 
the  Versaillese,  drunk  with  victory,  entered  the  Rue 
de  Fleurus  and  found  his  father  there. 

Some  of  them  still  lived  and  remembered  the  night. 
General  d'Arny  was  such  a  one,  and  they  were  to 
meet  to-morrow. 


IV 

At  the  Ritz  Hotel  a  few  hours  later,  Bertie  Morris 
studied  a  fine  company  with  a  critic's  eye.  He  knew 
most  of  the  people  in  the  famous  salle  a  manger,  and 
put  himself  up  several  pegs  on  the  strength  of  his 
knowledge. 

"Say,  there  are  some  glad  frocks — what?" 
Faber,  who  had  a  little  bundle  of  papers  in  his  hand, 
looked   round   and   about    for   the   first   time.      "All 
friends  of  yours?"  he  asked  slyly. 


60  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

Bertie  showed  a  row  of  gold-rimmed  teeth. 

"Know  most  of  them.  Newspaper  people  must. 
That's  young  Mrs.  Vanderbilt;  the  Countess  Soben- 
ski's  next  to  her.  Of  course,  you  recognize  Steel — 
and  the  Great  Man.  He's  as  good  as  he's  great — a 
hundred  and  forty  papers  and  more  than  one  Cabinet 
Minister  pretty  fond  of  him.  Beyond  him  is  Sir 
Charles.  Did  you  ever  hear  him  speak?  About  the 
best  hindleg  man  they've  got  over  yonder.  Oughtn't 
to  have  been  an  actor — he'd  have  run  Canterbury  bet- 
ter. Who  the  next  lot  are,  can't  say.  The  flaxen- 
haired  one  is  a  d d  fine  girl — I  don't  think.  Won- 
der who  she  is?" 

Faber  smiled.  "She's  a  parson's  daughter — no 
good  to  you.  There's  Sir  Jules  Achon  and  his  daugh- 
ter, but  who  the  little  girl  in  black  may  be,  I  don't 
know;  she  looks  like  a  French  girl." 

"I'll  ask  Ellis;  he's  a  'Who's  Who'  here.  Fine 
chap,  Ellis,  ought  to  have  got  the  K.G.G.  when  he 
was  in  London." 

"What's  the  K.G.G.  anyway?" 

"The  Knight  of  the  Grand  Gorge — two  pots  crossed 
and  a  tumbler  rampant.  Puts  Pommery  in  your 
thoughts.  Suppose  we  do  ?" 

Faber  gave  the  order  and  the  wine  was  served. 
Accustomed  to  the  immense  hotels  of  New  York,  he 
found  the  Ritz  interesting  chiefly  by  reason  of  its 
guests.  The  women  were  magnificently  gowned,  and 
many  of  them  very  pretty.  Such  a  cosmopolitan  com- 
pany could  hardly  be  found  in  any  other  hotel  on  the 
Continent;  its  united  wealth  would  have  financed  a 
kingdom.  Faber  reflected  with  satisfaction  that  he 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  ODYSSEY     61 

had  the  right  to  be  there.    His  brains  had  earned  him 

the  title. 

"About    this    parson's    daughter,"    Bertie    asked; 

"what's  she  doing  in  such  a  place  as  this?"     He  had 

grown  curious,  for  Gabrielle  Silvester  was  quite  the 

most  beautiful  woman  in  the  room. 
"She  appears  to  be  eating  at  present." 
"Yes,  I  know ;  but  who  are  her  friends  ?" 
"The  man  is  Sir  Jules  Achon.     He's  a  big  man — 

those  who  come  after  will  hear  of  him.     Have  you 

read  nothing  of  the  Federation  of  Europe?" 

"Not  as  much  as  the  top  dot  of  a  semicolon.    Who's 

going  to  federate  ?" 

"It's  his  own  idea.     Kill  war  by  commerce — you 

can't  kill  it  any  other  way.     Europe's  paying  ten  per 

cent  taxation  as  against  America  for  her  armies  and 

navies.     Make  one  federated  state  with  no  commercial 

barriers,  and  you  knock  the  ten  per  cent  down  to  two. 

That's  Sir  Jules's  notion." 

"You  don't  think  there's  anything  in  it?" 

"So  much  that  if  I  was  British  born,  I'd  give  him 

a  headline  in  dollars  which  would  set  the  town  talking. 

There's  everything  in  it  except  the  men.     He's  got 

the  German  Emperor,  and  he'll  get  the  Tsar.    It's  the 

smaller  fry  who  don't  listen." 
Bertie  smiled. 
"Your  Venus  with  the  tow-coloured  topknot  seems 

to  be  in  that  boat.    She's  looking  at  you  all  the  time." 
"Do  you  quarrel  with  her  taste?" 
"No;  but  you  know  her  pretty  well,  then?" 
"An  impertinent  question.     She  came  over  on  the 

ship  with  me." 


62  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"And  wants  to  go  back  the  same  way — eh,  what? 
Well,  I'd  like  to  interview  Sir  Jules  anyway.  There 
ought  to  be  a  column  story  in  him." 

"Yes,  he  ought  to  be  worth  fifty  dollars." 

"Did  you  say  he'd  got  the  German  Emperor?" 

"I  understand  that's  so;  he's  going  down  to  Corfu 
to  see  him  again.  He'll  get  the  thing  through  if  I 
don't  upset  it." 

"Why  should  you  upset  it?" 

"Rattle  up  your  brains  and  see  the  reason.  I'm 
here  to  sell  guns.  While  that  man  is  dangling  about 
an  anteroom,  kow-towing  to  menials,  I  shall  be  inside 
with  the  chief.  It's  common  sense.  I'm  here  to  do 
business — he's  here  to  prevent  that  kind  of  business 
being  done." 

"Is  he  going  to  take  the  peerless  Saxon  with  him  ?" 

"You  seem  rather  hot  on  that  scent." 

"A  d d  fine  woman!  Look  at  her  arms!  She's 

got  a  style  you  don't  often  find  among  Englishwomen. 
I  can't  see  her  feet." 

"Ask  the  waiter  to  take  away  the  table." 

"I'll  bet  she  takes  fives.  Her  eyes  are  of  the  'get 
there'  sort.  Can't  you  feel  her  looking  this  way?" 

"I'm  not  conscious  of  any  rise  of  temperature.  If 
you've  done  looking,  perhaps  we'll  smoke.  They'll 
be  coming  out  immediately." 

"Then  you'll  introduce  me?" 

"Ah!  I  didn't  say  that.    Is  it  brandy  or  Kiimmel?" 

"Oh,  brandy — if  you've  got  to  talk  to  women." 

They  passed  out  into  the  corridor,  and  sat  there 
near  the  band.  The  place  was  deliciously  warm;  it 
glowed  with  soft  lights,  and  was  redolent  of  the  odours 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  ODYSSEY     63 

of  flowers.  Superbly  dressed  women  rustled  by  them; 
men,  who  had  dined  well,  lurched  past  with  their 
hands  in  their  pockets  and  cigarettes  in  their  mouths. 
The  Hungarians  played  one  of  Lehar's  waltzes — a 
scene  of  colour  and  of  life  reflecting  the  holy  of  social 
holies  and  of  the  almighty  dollar.  Presently  Sir  Jules 
Achon  came  out,  followed  by  the  three  girls.  Now, 
Faber  recognised  the  third.  She  was  Claudine  d'Arny, 
General  d'Arny's  daughter. 

The  party  was  almost  gone  by  before  Gabrielle 
discovered  him.  She  turned  at  once  and  held  out  her 
gloved  hand. 

"The  wager,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  very  ear- 
nestly; "I  appear  to  have  lost." 

"Well,  there's  nothing  to  pay  anyway.  Are  you 
going  through  to  the  yacht?" 

"Yes,  to  Naples.  Sir  Jules  wishes  me  to  see  Italy 
and  then  the  Adriatic." 

"Full  of  pirates  and  wild  men,"  said  Eva  Achon, 
who  was  by  Gabrielle's  side.  "We  shall  all  be  carried 
away  to  a  cave." 

"I  didn't  know  they  had  so  much  taste.  How  do 
you  do,  Sir  Jules  ?" 

Sir  Jules  was  a  little  man  with  a  wonderful  head. 
He  was  sixty- four  years  old,  but  had  the  intellectual 
energy  of  a  man  of  twenty.  The  East  and  the  West 
were  strangely  blended  in  a  countenance  full  of  power 
and  quiet  dignity.  A  softer  voice  Faber  had  never 
heard. 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Faber.    And  you  ?" 

"Always  well — on  paper.  You  are  going  through 
to  Italy,  I  hear — you'll  catch  the  Emperor,  I  think." 


64  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"I  hope  so.     The  promises  encourage  me." 
"But  the  performances   will  be  better.     Any  old 
fool  of  a  minister  can  promise;  it  is  a  king  who  per- 
forms." 

"You  have  read  my  pamphlet,  Mr.  Faber?" 
"Every    line — the   greatest   peace    scheme — I    was 
going  to  say,  on  earth.     I'll  change  that:     Out  of 
heaven's  nearer  it!" 

"Of  course,  it  must  come  slowly,  if  it  comes." 
"All  the  best  things  come  slowly.  Man  was  about 
a  million  years  about  before  he  thought  of  microbes 
— this  is  a  great  affair;  none  greater.  It  would  be 
the  coup  of  the  century  if  you  brought  it  off.  There 
could  be  nothing  greater." 

"I  hope  to  do  so.    Are  you  staying  here  long?" 
"As  many  hours  as  it  will  take  me  to  teach  a  man 
my  name.    I  may  be  at  Corfu  myself  afterwards.    I'm 
imitating  you,  and  buying  a  yacht." 

"The  one  luxury  in  the  world — get  a  good  one." 
"There  won't  be  any  better  when  I  begin." 
The  group  passed  on ;  Faber  shook  hands  with  Eva, 
but  not  with  Claudine  d'Arny.    When  Gabrielle's  turn 
came,  he  held  her  hand  in  his  for  a  brief  instant  and 
said: 

"Well,  how's  the  I.A.L.?" 

"Waiting  for  your  name,"  she  replied.     But  she 
did  not  withdraw  her  hand. 

"Will  you  give  me  the  top  of  the  bill?" 
"In  gold  and  purple." 

"And    printed    on    fine    linen?     Well,    I'm    not 
tempted." 

"The  day  will  come " 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  ODYSSEY      65 

He  laughed  and  dropped  her  hand. 

"That's  Booth,  the  actor.  Well,  most  of  you  are 
play-acting,  anyway.  Good-night,  Miss  Silvester, 
don't  forget  what  I  say." 

She  laughed  and  spoke  in  a  lower  tone. 

"I  will  remind  you  of  it  at  Corfu,"  she  said. 

The  men  watched  them  down  the  corridor  before 
Bertie  Morris  became  eloquent.  He  was  not  a  little 
piqued  that  the  girls  had  ignored  him,  while  even  Sir 
Jules  had  regarded  him  as  one  regards  an  ugly  piece 
of  china  in  a  glass-case.  A  poor  tribute,  he  thought, 
to  the  might  of  the  pen. 

"Well?"  said  Faber. 

"A  d d  fine  girl,  but  cold  as  marble!" 

"What  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

"Voice,  gesture,  everything.  Give  her  a  chance, 
and  she'd  be  up  on  a  platform  spouting." 

"I  don't  think  so.  She's  going  to  have  many 
chances.  What  about  the  others?" 

"The  old  man's  daughter  is  just  a  bread-and-butter 
miss.  I  liked  little  Claudine  d'Arny — as  ugly  as  sin, 
but  passion  enough  for  a  nautch  girl." 

"You  remind  me  of  her  father.  See  here:  I  had 
a  letter  from  him  to-day.  What  would  happen  to- 
morrow if  I  published  it — by  accident?  Here's  a 
note  of  it." 

Bertie  read  it  carelessly;  then  with  a  journalistic 
interest : 

"If  you  published  that— 

"Or  you  did- 

"Same  thing — I  guess  he'd  be  out  of  Paris  in  four- 
and-twenty  hours." 


68  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

of  one  of  the  oldest  aristocracies  in  France,  came  for- 
ward, the  general  assented  in  spite  of  his  democratic 
principles.  The  business  of  providing  for  the  girl 
aged  him  pathetically.  The  newspapers  said  it  was 
Morocco;  but  the  trouble  lay  much  nearer  home. 

As  it  chanced,  John  Faber  arrived  in  Paris  in  the 
midst  of  the  preparations  for  Claudine's  wedding.  He 
knew  nothing  of  it;  no  one  had  guessed  that  he  had 
any  interest  in  the  daughter  of  the  French  Minister 
of  Artillery,  or  she  in  him.  Claudine  went  to  America 
at  the  invitation  of  the  French  Ambassador,  whose 
children  were  her  friends.  When  Faber  was  intro- 
duced to  her  upon  the  ship,  she  said  frankly  that  she 
did  not  like  him.  His  manners  were  gauche,  and  his 
eyes  inquisitive.  She  avoided  him  with  a  sur?  instinct, 
being  ignorant  that  he  knew  anything  of  b,>r  or  her 
family.  This  was  a  great  misfortune,  fc  r  she  had 
many  qualities  which  appeal  to  mer,  and  Faber  was 
not  the  kind  of  man  to  remain  insei  ible  to  them. 

In  Paris,  upon  her  return,  she  en  ;red  the  promised 
land  of  preparation.  The  general  swore  loudly  while 
he  signed  the  cheques,  but  signed  them  none  the  less. 
Dressmakers  flocked  to  the  Boulevard  St.  Germain, 
and  their  mouths  were  full  of  pins.  Claudine  was  of 
a  romantic  temperament,  but  it  could  stoop  to  laces 
and  fine  linen.  She  argle-bargled  with  her  father  like 
a  wench  at  a  fair,  and  when  he  discounted  the  list, 
she  declared  that  she  would  not  be  married  at  all. 
A  scandal  was  the  potent  weapon  in  her  armament 
He  could  not  have  a  scandal. 

This  extravagance  of  idea  filled  her  bedroom  to 
overflowing;  to  say  nothing  of  other  bedrooms.  She 


D'ARNY  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER  69 

would  sit  curled  up  amid  a  tangle  of  the  most  delicate 
draperies — transparencies  which  should  have  come 
from  a  fairy  godmother;  masterpieces  in  velvets  and 
satins — she  would  wonder  if  life  were  long  enough  to 
wear  them  all.  These  things  were  hidden  in  her  virgin 
holy  of  holies,  but  she  ticked  off  the  days  which  shut 
the  door  against  the  One  Unknown,  and  often  fell  to 
a  young  girl's  awe  in  the  presence  of  the  mysteries. 
Then  came  the  last  night  of  all — the  maids  had  left 
her;  the  house  was  at  rest.  A  dirty  fluff  of  snow  fell 
upon  the  streets  of  Paris.  She  was  to  be  married  at 
St.  Eustache  to-morrow ! 

Claudine  undressed  herself,  and  putting  on  the  most 
wonderful  of  lace  robes,  she  sat  before  a  fire  of  wood 
and  warmed  her  pink  and  white  feet  at  the  blaze. 
There  should  have  been  regrets  at  the  life  she  was 
leaving:  she  might  have  dwelt  with  some  affection 
upon  her  passing  girlhood,  and  the  home  which  had 
sheltered  her.  But  she  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  Her 
thoughts  were  entirely  devoted  to  St.  Eustache  and 
afterwards.  What  an  exciting  day  it  must  be!  Every 
friend  she  had  would  be  in  the  church.  One  of  the 
canons  was  to  marry  them,  and  afterwards  there  would 
be  a  great  feast  and  many  speeches  in  the  old  ball- 
room downstairs.  At  four  in  the  afternoon,  Justin's 
motor-car  was  to  take  them  to  the  old  chateau,  near 
Rambouillet,  where  the  first  week  was  to  be  spent. 
She  pictured  the  lonely  drive  over  the  whitened  roads, 
through  the  forests — then  the  chateau,  grim,  old  and 
moated.  They  would  dine  together — and  then — then 
she  would  know  what  love  was ! 

Her  ideas  were  truly  French,  and  English  senti- 


70  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

ment  could  have  offered  them  little  sympathy.  Per- 
haps Captain  Issy-Ferrault  stood  to  her  less  for  the 
man  than  for  a  man.  She  had  been  educated  in  con- 
vents where  saintly  women  shuddered  at  the  mere 
footsteps  of  their  common  enemy  and  provoked  a 
thousand  curiosities  by  their  very  holiness.  Then  had 
come  a  few  short  years  of  the  world — it  had  taught 
Claudine  that  all  life  began  from  the  hour  when  a  man 
first  took  a  woman  into  his  arms  and  the  Church 
blessed  the  proceeding.  Afterwards  there  were  other 
things.  The  first  step  was  sufficient  for  her  vigil  that 
night. 

Her  wedding  dress  had  been  laid  upon  a  little  bed 
in  the  adjoining  room.  She  went  there  on  tip-toe  as 
though  afraid  that  someone  might  spy  upon  her  while 
she  touched  the  satin  and  laces  with  delighted  fingers. 
Strong  scents  perfumed  the  room  and  the  odour  of 
blossoms.  Claudine  went  and  stood  before  a  long 
mirror  of  the  wardrobe  and  studied  herself  in  many 
attitudes.  She  did  not  know  whether  she  was  really 
pretty.  Justin,  her  fiance,  had  paid  her  many  compli- 
ments, and  she  tried  to  believe  them.  A  greater  source 
of  encouragement  was  her  figure — the  fine  rounded 
limbs,  the  pink  and  white  of  a  young  girl's  skin.  For 
an  instant  she  remembered  the  ordeal  of  discovery 
which  awaited  her  to-morrow ;  then  with  a  light  laugh, 
she  returned  to  her  bedroom.  Other  brides  had  suf- 
fered and  survived — she  took  courage. 

The  priest  had  told  her  to  say  many  things  in  her 
prayers — good  man,  he  said  them  in  his — but  they 
were  clean  gone  from  her  head  at  this  time.  The 
girlish  romance  of  an  English  wedding  was  not  for 


D'ARNY  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER  71 

her.  No  gifts  of  sweet  and  silent  hours  were  hers. 
She  knew  very  little  of  Justin — he,  less  of  her.  He 
had  kissed  her  but  twice,  and  then  apologetically.  Yet 
to-morrow  she  would  be  his  wife. 

Stay,  but  was  it  to-morrow?  She  listened  at  the 
window  and  counted  the  church  bells  chiming  tke  hour. 

Twelve  o'clock. 

Her  wedding  was  to-day. 


II 

The  afternoon  of  the  same  day  had  found  General 
d'Arny  closeted  with  John  Faber  in  a  little  room  in 
the  Avenue  de  1'Opera.  Here  was  the  Paris  agency 
of  the  great  Charleston  Company,  and  hither  came 
d'Arny  at  his  own  suggestion. 

A  bent  old  man,  not  lacking  dignity  in  a  common 
way — dignity  had  gone  to  the  journalistic  dogs  that 
afternoon.  He  entered  the  office  trembling  with  ex- 
citement; he  could  not  speak  for  some  minutes,  and 
when  he  did  so,  his  tones  rolled  like  thunder. 

"It  is  finished,"  he  said.  "Read!"  And  he  held 
out  a  paper  with  quivering  fingers. 

Faber  watched  him  with  half -closed  eyes.  He  was 
thinking  of  another  day,  when  this  man,  a  mere  cap- 
tain of  the  Chasseurs-a-Cheval  then,  had  ridden  down 
the  Rue  de  Fleurus  and  commanded  his  men  to  hunt 
out  the  Communards.  Some  forty  years  ago,  and  no 
doubt  the  soldier  had  forgotten  every  hour  of  it. 
None  the  less,  the  sword  of  destiny  was  poised  and 
would  fall. 

"What  shall  I  read?"  Faber  rejoined,  after  a  little 


72 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

spell  of  waiting.  He  knew  every  word  his  friend  Ber- 
tie Morris  had  cabled  to  America,  but  his  face  was 
void  of  knowledge. 

"Some  talk  of  the  deal,"  he  ran  on.  "Well,  I  guess 
we  expect  it.  Why  should  they  keep  quiet?" 

The  soldier  pulled  himself  together,  and  taking  the 
paper  from  the  outstretched  hand,  he  began  to  turn 
the  leaves  quickly. 

"It  is  on  page  3,"  he  said.  "Yes,  that  is  it,  if  you 
would  be  good  enough  to  read." 

The  clock  ticked  in  a  silent  room  for  some  minutes. 
Faber  read  the  article  to  the  end  without  moving  a 
muscle  of  his  usually  expressive  face.  A  great  busi- 
ness man  is  often  a  great  actor.  He  was  one. 

"There  seems  to  have  been  a  leakage,"  he  said  pres- 
ently, and  then,  looking  up,  "Whom  do  you  suspect?" 

"I  suspect!  God  in  Heaven,  what  has  suspicion 
to  do  with  me?" 

"I  should  have  thought  you  were  in  the  way  of  it — 
that  is,  if  you  take  it  seriously  this  side." 

The  old  man  wormed  with  impatience. 

"The  Soir  has  it ;  there  will  not  be  a  paper  in  Paris 
without  it  to-morrow.  Do  you  not  see  that  it  is,  in 
effect,  the  letter  I  wrote  to  you  on  Tuesday  last  ?" 

"Who's  to  blame  for  that?  I  told  you  at  the  be- 
ginning not  to  write." 

"Is  it  to  be  imagined  that  you  cannot  receive  let- 
ters?" 

Faber  leaned  over  the  table,  and  began  to  speak 
with  some  warmth. 

"See  here,"  he  said,  "you're  a  Minister  of  Artillery 
in  Paris.  You  receive,  I  suppose,  some  three  or  four 


D'ARNY  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER  73 

hundred  letters  a  day?  Can  you  be  responsible  for 
them  all?" 

"But  this  was  sent  to  you  privately  at  your  hotel." 

"A  foolish  kind  of  letter  at  the  best — I  remember 
every  word  of  it.  You  admit  in  so  many  words  that 
our  deal  is  for  forty  thousand  francs,  and  stipulate 
that  Captain  Clearnay  must  have  ten.  Why  couldn't 
you  come  round  to  me  and  say  so  ?" 

"I  was  three  times  at  the  hotel  that  day;  you  were 
absent  on  each  occasion.  It  was  urgent  that  Clearnay 
should  be  dealt  with  if  the  contract  was  to  go 
through." 

"Exactly  what  this  newspaper  man  says.  He  calls  it 
a  second  Ollivier  case,  I  see.  Well,  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  it  made  as  much  noise." 

D'Arny  tortured  himself  into  new  attitudes. 

"Good  God!"  he  cried.  "Don't  you  see  my  posi- 
tion?" 

"Perfectly.  I  saw  it  from  the  beginning.  You'll 
have  to  leave  Paris  awhile." 

"Then  the  contract  is  lost?" 

"I  never  thought  it  would  go  through,  General.  I 
wasn't  such  a  d d  fool." 

"But  at  least  a  word  from  you  will  save  my  name. 
You  can  deny  the  letter." 

"I  could  deny  it." 

"Are  you  wishing  to  tell  me  that  there  is  any 
doubt?" 

"No  doubt  at  all.  Unfortunately,  it  was  read,  by 
mistake,  in  the  Hotel  Ritz  the  night  it  reached  me. 
You  should  see  Morris,  of  the  New  York  Mitre.  He 
might  do  something  for  you." 


74  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

The  man  rose,  white  as  a  sheet  and  broken.  He 
may  or  may  not  have  understood  the  nature  of  the 
trap  into  which  he  had  fallen,  but  it  was  clear  to  him 
that  John  Faber  could  or  would  do  little  for  him.  He 
went  out  into  the  street  to  be  offered  a  copy  of  La 
Guepe,  and  to  hear  the  newsboy  cry  the  latest  news 
of  this  surpassing  jobbery. 

A  less  consummate  artist  than  Faber  would  have 
spoken  of  the  Rue  de  Fleurus,  and  of  what  happened 
there  forty  years  ago.  Hubert  d'Arny  had  not  the 
remotest  notion  that  the  man  who  had  ruined  him  was 
the  son  of  that  American  citizen  who  had  been  shot  by 
his  orders  at  the  crisis  of  the  great  debacle. 

Ill 

Paris  licked  its  lips  over  the  scandal,  and  then  stood 
aghast. 

The  tragedy  surpassed  all  expectation,  and  yet  all 
admitted  that  there  was  no  other  course. 

Hubert  d'Arny  was  found  dead  in  a  little  hotel  at 
Passy  that  very  night.  He  had  blown  out  his  brains 
upon  the  eve  of  his  daughter's  wedding.  People 
thought  rather  of  Claudine  than  of  him.  Much  that 
would  have  been  written  and  said  was  obliterated  or 
hushed  when  she  was  mentioned.  Who  would  break 
it  to  her?  Such  a  blow  had  not  been  struck  at  the 
Republic  since  the  Humbert  scandal. 

Faber  knew  nothing  of  the  coming  wedding,  and 
he  heard  the  news  of  Hubert  d'Arny's  death  without 
emotion.  There  were  primitive  traits  in  his  character 
which  this  affair  made  dominant.  If  pity  urged 


D'ARNY  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER  75 

claims,  he  thrust  them  aside  when  he  remembered  his 
dead  father.  "An  eye  for  an  eye — and  for  death,  the 
dead."  A  sense  of  power  and  authority  nerved  his 
will  and  flattered  a  well-balanced  vanity.  After  all, 
his  brains  and  money  had  won  this  victory  against  all 
the  shining  armour  of  France.  He  perceived  that  the 
financier  was,  after  all,  the  most  considerable  power 
in  the  world  to-day.  Kings  can  make  war  when  the 
bankers  will  pay  for  it.  He  had  been  his  own  gen- 
eral and  his  money  was  his  army.  A  stroke  of  the 
pen  had  laid  one  of  the  most  powerful  men  in  Paris 
dead  at  his  feet — as  vulgar  tragedy  would  put  it.  A 
mind  that  had  little  subtlety  and  much  common  sense 
rose  to  no  analytical  attitudes.  He  had  killed  the  man 
just  as  a  Southerner  shoots  down  a  nigger — and  of 
the  two  the  nigger  was  perhaps  the  more  deserving. 

In  this  frame  of  mind,  he  was  greatly  astonished 
to  receive  a  visit  from  Gabrielle  Silvester  very  early 
on  the  following  morning.  He  had  even  forgotten 
that  she  knew  anything  of  his  dealings  with  General 
d'Arny,  nor  did  he  immediately  connect  her  with  the 
tragedy  of  which  all  Paris  was  talking.  She  had  come 
to  tell  him  that  the  yacht  was  sailing,  he  thought ;  then 
he  noticed  that  she  did  not  offer  him  her  hand,  while 
her  manner  toward  him  was  utterly  changed — a  chill 
womanly  manner  he  could  not  mistake. 

"Why!"  he  said.    "Still  in  Paris?" 

She  avoided  the  question,  and  went  straight  to  the 
heart  of  the  matter. 

"I  have  come  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Faber,  if  you  knew 
that  Claudine  d'Arny  was  to  have  been  married  to- 
day?" 


76 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

He  stepped  back  a  pace  and  looked  her  full  in  the 
face.  Rarely  in  his  life  had  he  flinched  before  man 
or  woman,  but  the  accusation  stunned  him. 

"Was  I  aware?    But  how  should  I  be  aware?" 

She  drew  nearer,  her  face  aflame  and  her  heart  beat- 
ing wildly. 

"I  must  know  this — please  bear  with  me.  I  must 
have  your  answer !" 

"It  has  been  given  you.     I  knew  nothing." 

She  seemed  dazed  and  not  a  little  helpless  now. 
Seating  herself  upon  the  edge  of  a  chair  near  the  fire- 
place, she  began  to  speak  her  thoughts  aloud. 

"The  secret  is  yours  and  mine.  I  would  have  told 
nobody.  For  you,  it  must  be  a  hard  thought  to  the 
end  of  your  life.  She  was  to  have  been  married  to- 
day. Will  you  tell  me  that  if  you  had  known  it,  it 
would  have  made  a  difference  ?" 

He  debated  that,  standing  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  but  his  face  grave  enough. 

"Nothing  would  have  made  any  difference  between 
that  man  and  me.  He  shot  my  father.  Very  well — 
he  had  to  pay,  sooner  or  later.  But  I  don't  think  it 
would  have  been  to-day,  if  I  had  known." 

She  was  silent  a  little  while.     Then  she  said: 

"I  can  think  of  nothing  but  such  simple  things. 
If  I  had  stopped  to  tell  you  in  the  hall  of  the  hotel — 
just  that — there  would  not  have  been  to-day!  It  was 
one  of  those  chances  that  do  not  recur.  I  thought 
everyone  knew  that  Claudine  was  to  be  married." 

"The  last  thing  a  man  knows  about  any  woman  who 
is  a  mere  acquaintance.  Have  you  seen  her  to-day?" 

She  shivered. 


D'ARNY  AND  HIS  DAUGHTER  77 

"I  dare  not  go — I  dare  not!" 

"She  has  relatives  in  Paris?" 

"I  suppose  so — friends  would  put  her  to  shame. 
Does  it  matter  when  he  is  dead?" 

"He  was  a  rogue,  or  I  would  have  spared  him.  He 
tried  to  cheat  me  from  the  start.  I  found  nothing  I 
could  fix  upon — and  I  looked  for  it!" 

She^would  not  consider  it  from  that  point  of  view. 

"This  will  always  be  in  your  life  and  Claudine's. 
Time  cannot  alter  judgments  of  this  kind.  It  will 
grow  with  the  years.  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  Mr. 
Faber." 

He  resented  it;  the  patronage  of  women  rarely 
failed  to  anger  him. 

"Leave  me  to  my  own  affairs.  I  take  the  respon- 
sibility. I've  taken  a  good  many  in  my  time.  The 
girl's  to  be  thought  of.  Who  was  she  going  to  marry  ?" 

"Captain  Issy-Ferrault.  I  hardly  know  him:  an 
officer  of  cavalry,  they  say." 

"Poor,  I  suppose,  as  most  of  the  kind?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you." 

"When  will  she  marry  him  now?" 

"Oh,  surely,  you  understand?" 

"I  understand  one  thing :  he's  going  to  marry  her." 

"A  child  would  know  that  it's  impossible!" 

"Then  I  am  wiser  than  a  child.  Will  you  let  me 
have  his  address — to-morrow,  say?" 

"I  am  leaving  Paris  to-morrow." 

"Then  one  of  my  clerks  will  get  it.  Shall  we  meet 
at  Corfu?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "I  came  to  tell  you 
that  I  never  wished  to  see  you  again." 


78 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"You  haven't  told  me  so.     It  shall  be  at  Corfu." 
She  did  not  answer  or  hold  out  her  hand.    He  knew 

that  a  barrier  had  risen  up  between  them  and  his 

pride  was  quickened. 

He   would   marry   this    woman   because    she    had 

judged  him. 


BOOK  II 
THE  PLAYERS 


CHAPTER  I 

A   RACE   FOR  AN   EMPEROR 
I 

There  were  two  yachts  on  the  Adriatic  Sea  wait- 
ing for  an  emperor. 

One  lay  in  the  harbour  of  Fiume ;  the  other  at  Tri- 
este. The  emperor  himself  was  still  at  Potsdam,  and 
none  of  the  newspapers  seemed  to  know  when  he 
.would  sail. 

Sir  Jules  Achon  was  a  man  of  infinite  patience  and 
superb  tenacity.  Few  but  his  intimate  friends  knew 
much  about  him.  He  had  amassed  a  great  fortune  as 
a  shipbroker,  and  now  with  advancing  years,  he  de- 
voted the  bulk  of  that  fortune  to  this  tremendous 
project  of  European  Federation.  Yet  it  was  all  done 
without  any  claptrap  whatever.  The  newspapers  had 
hardly  heard  of  it.  There  was  no  writer  of  emi- 
nence to  take  it  up.  Sir  Jules  worked  in  great  places, 
but  he  worked  silently.  Already  his  scheme  had  the 
approval  of  kings  and  emperors.  He  had  gone  to  St. 
Petersburg  with  a  recommendation  to  the  English  Am- 
bassador which  opened  all  doors.  But  for  a  dramatic 
accident  of  destiny,  the  Tsar  would  have  been  his  first 
patron.  Three  ministers  knew  his  scheme,  and  two 
of  them  were  warm  supporters  of  such  a  transcendent 

81 


82 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

project.  The  third  saw  in  it  a  danger  to  the  diploma- 
tists, which  self  interest  could  not  tolerate.  "This  will 
make  an  end  of  us,"  he  had  said.  Sir  Jules  agreed 
that  it  was  so.  That  very  night  Ivolsky  obtained  an 
audience  of  the  Emperor,  and  besought  him  to  with- 
draw his  patronage.  The  others  were  too  late  by  a 
few  hours,  and  who  shall  say  how  far  that  accident 
of  time  and  space  has  affected  the  immediate  desti- 
nies of  Europe? 

For  the  common  peace  projects,  beating  of  pacific 
drums  and  waving  of  fraternal  flags,  Sir  Jules  cared 
not  at  all.  He  believed  that  international  peace  could 
come  only  upon  a  basis  of  common  European  inter- 
ests. His  scheme  would  have  established  free  trade 
between  the  kingdoms.  Wars  arise  chiefly  from  com- 
mercial disputes;  commercial  disputes  are  the  first 
fruits  of  tariffs.  Let  the  commercial  incentive  be 
wanting  and  disarmament  may  begin.  A  gradual 
process  needed  many  years  for  full  attainment — but 
it  could  begin  to-morrow  if  the  conditions  were  ful- 
filled. 

He  talked  very  little  of  all  this  to  those  with  him 
on  the  yacht.  It  was,  in  effect,  a  young  people's  party 
and  a  merry  one  at  that.  Dr.  Joe  Burrall  had  come 
from  Putney,  a  braw  man  of  thirty,  who  had  rowed 
for  Cambridge.  Douglas  Renshaw,  a  gunner  whose 
occupation  had  gone,  came  because  he  was  asked,  and 
was  asked  because  he  was  sure  to  come.  He  had  taken 
to  the  Stock  Exchange  recently  as  a  wire-haired  ter- 
rier to  the  gorse,  and  Sir  Jules  had  put  a  small  for- 
tune into  his  pocket.  He  knew  a  little  geology,  and 
declared  his  intention  of  studying  Slav.  So  far  the 


A  RACE  FOR  AN  EMPEROR  83 

only  word  he  had  picked  up  was  "hijar,"  and  he  was 
not  very  sure  to  what  tongue  it  belonged,  though  he 
used  it  frequently  as  an  expression  of  joy. 

These  two  with  Gabrielle  Silvester  were  the  guests 
of  Sir  Jules  and  his  daughter  upon  the  Wanderer,  the 
fine  steam  yacht  which  had  so  often  invaded  the  su- 
perb mysteries  of  the  Western  Mediterranean.  They 
understood  their  host's  ambitions,  but  rarely  spoke 
of  them.  When  it  was  learned  that  there  was  a  doubt 
about  the  Emperor  going  to  Corfu  after  all,  they 
looked  upon  it  as  a  personal  rebuff,  but  did  not  dis- 
cuss it  except  apart.  All  kinds  of  excursions  kept 
them  busy.  They  visited  the  unsurpassable  islands  of 
the  Adriatic,  became  learned  about  Zara  and  Sebenico 
and  matchless  Ragusa,  the  incomparable  Republic,  de- 
fying East  and  West  alike  during  the  centuries.  Lo- 
cal interests  attracted  them;  they  saw  much  of  these 
savage  peoples;  were  ashore  for  many  a  frolic;  lived 
in  a  blaze  of  sunshine  and  an  atmosphere  wholly  me- 
dieval. 

Gabrielle's  voyage  to  America  had  been  her  first 
world  experience  beyond  the  walls  of  meticulous  sub- 
urbia. This  new  adventure  fascinated  her  beyond 
measure.  She  felt  that  she  had  really  begun  to  live. 
It  were  as  though  the  passion  of  the  East  stirred  in 
her  normally  cold  blood  and  left  her  panting.  Destiny 
had  snatched  her  up  from  the  ruck  to  put  her  in  high 
places.  Far  from  surrendering  to  the  enervating  sug- 
gestions of  this  sunny  sea,  they  forced  her  mind  to 
considerable  ambitions — and  with  them  all  the  name  of 
John  Faber  would  associate  itself  despite  the  memo- 
ries. This  was  contrary  to  all  she  had  determined  in 


84- 


Paris,  and  put  her  to  some  shame.  She  felt  that  she 
had  no  right  to  see  such  a  man  again,  that  he  was  a 
social  pariah,  without  pity  or  any  title  to  the  meanest 
respect.  And  yet  he  would  creep  into  the  scheme  of 
her  ambitions,  and  she  understood  in  some  way  that 
without  him  they  were  meaningless. 

II 

It  was  a  great  surprise  to  Gabrielle  when  the  launch 
returned  to  the  yacht  one  afternoon  in  the  second 
week  in  December  with  her  father  and  Harry  Lassett 
on  board.  This  was  one  of  Sir  Jules'  great  surprises 
i — one  in  which  Eva  had  a  part.  Silvester  was  very 
tired  after  his  long  journey  across  Europe,  but  Harry 
was  very  full  of  it.  They  were  greeted  by  Douglas 
Renshaw  with  a  "hijar" ;  by  Sir  Jules  with  that  quiet 
smile  which  betokened  pleasure  in  the  company  of  his 
friends. 

"I  had  no  idea  you  could  get  away,"  he  said,  "or 
I  would  have  asked  you  in  London." 

Silvester  said  that  he  had  no  idea  of  it  either;  an 
American  had  come  over  from  Yonkers  and  was  tak- 
ing his  services  for  a  fortnight.  Harry  admitted  that 
for  his  part  he  could  always  get  away,  which,  as  Joe 
Burrall  remarked,  was  an  advantage  as  useful  in  debt 
as  in  matrimony. 

This  was  a  sunny  day,  an  ideal  day  of  southern 
winter,  and  they  all  took  tea  beneath  the  awning  of 
the  promenade  deck.  With  Harry,  Gabrielle  was  a 
little  constrained  and  uneasy.  She  was  glad  to  have 
him  there,  and  yet  felt  that  in  some  way  his  presence 


A  RACE  FOR  AN  EMPEROR 85 

was  a  douche  upon  her  schemes.  He  spoke  of  the 
little  world  of  outer  London,  not  of  the  wider  horizon 
to  which  she  looked.  She  had  built  a  tower  of  her 
imagination  which  Harry  Lassett  would  never  climb. 
Indeed,  he  would  have  derided  it  as  he  had  done  her 
American  friendship.  With  her  father  it  was  differ- 
ent. She  had  a  long  talk  with  him  in  his  cabin  before 
dinner  and  she  learned  again  how  much  importance 
he  had  attached  to  her  diplomatic  success  with  John 
Faber. 

"It  would  send  me  to  Yonkers  with  better  creden- 
tials than  any  Englishman  ever  carried  across  the 
seas/'  he  said.  "Think  of  it — John  Faber  with  us! 
The  man  who  has  done  more  than  anyone  alive  to 
make  war  possible  in  our  time." 

"You  will  never  get  him,  father.  It  would  be  a 
great  wrong  against  the  truth  if  he  came  in." 

"Why  should  it  be  wrong,  Gabrielle?" 

"For  many  reasons.  He  believes  that  all  our  dreams 
are  sentimental  moonshine;  he  never  could  be  in  ear- 
nest— how  should  he  be  when  he  does  not  believe  ?" 

"Is  it  not  possible  to  put  our  view  so  convincingly 
that  he  must  believe?" 

"Are  we  convinced  ourselves?  Is  it  very  real  to 
us?" 

"It  is  very  real  to  me.  I  think  it  must  be  to  every 
man  of  culture." 

"How  many  that  would  exclude.  Nelson  could  not 
have  been  a  man  of  culture." 

He  looked  up,  pained. 

"Faber  has  been  talking  to  you." 

"No,  I  have  been  talking  to  myself.    I  think  with 


86 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

you  that  war  is  a  very  great  crime  against  humanity, 
but,  after  all,  God  allows  it." 

He  sighed  and  began  to  sort  out  his  papers. 

"There  is  a  great  deal  which  seems  to  be  permitted. 
It  is  another  way  of  saying  that  mankind  has  been 
left  a  great  work  to  do.  We  are  fortunate  if  we  are 
called  to  bear  the  smallest  burden.  I  think  disappoint- 
ments should  be  numbered  among  them." 

"Oh!  I  agree  with  you.  And,  of  course,  I  shall 
still  hope  for  Mr.  Faber's  name." 

"If  you  think  it  a  wrong,  that  would  be  an  incon- 
sistency." 

"Not  altogether;  it  might  be  a  great  victory.  He 
is  a  man  with  whom  you  can  argue." 

"Then  I  hope  you  will  see  him  again  at  Corfu." 

Gabrielle  did  not  answer  that.  Her  own  words  ac- 
cused her  in  some  way. 

A  great  victory !  A  woman's  victory !  What  would 
that  mean  in  this  case?  For  the  moment  she  let  am- 
bition run  away  with  her  and  imagination  reared  fine 
castles.  They  went  down  with  a  crash  when  she  heard 
Harry  Lassett  calling  her.  She  made  some  excuse 
and  went  out — just  as  she  had  gone  when  Harry  called 
below  her  window  at  Hampstead. 

Ill 

A  superb  night  with  a  fine  round  moon  found  them 
aft  upon  the  deck,  gazing  over  the  lights  of  Fiume  to 
the  vine-clad  hills  beyond.  A  wonderful  stillness  upon 
land  and  water  gave  place  from  time  to  time  to  sounds 
most  musical — the  lingering  notes  of  sonorous  bells, 


A  RACE  FOR  AN  EMPEROR  87 

the  lilt  of  Italian  song,  the  splash  of  unseen  oars,  and 
the  music  of  ships.  Lanterns  shone  about  them,  the 
lanterns  of  steamers  at  anchor  and  of  the  Austrian 
fleet.  Against  a  glorious  horizon  the  sails  of  feluccas 
would  take  fantastic  shapes;  the  stars  grouped  them- 
selves in  joyous  brilliancy.  There  were  many  houses 
upon  the  distant  hillside  and  they  stood  there  as  bea- 
cons, speaking  to  the  ships  and  the  sea  in  a  tongue 
which  all  understood. 

Sir  Jules  and  Silvester  were  in  the  smoking-room 
at  this  time  having  what  Harry  called  "a  pow-wow." 
Eva  played  sentimental  themes  upon  the  great  organ 
in  the  drawing-room;  the  doctor  and  Douglas  Ren- 
shaw  were  ashore  for  the  good  of  the  populace.  Ga- 
brielle,  herself,  set  deep  in  a  deck  chair  with  Harry 
Lassett  at  her  feet.  He  smoked  a  great  pipe  and  talked 
St.  Moritz.  There  had  been  trouble  with  his  trustees, 
and  he  was  not  sure  he  could  get  out  there  this  year. 

"So,  you  see,"  he  said,  "I  came  along  when  the  old 
chap  asked  me." 

"A  most  candid  way  of  putting  it;  there  could  have 
been  no  other  reason  in  the  world." 

"Oh,  I  say,  puss !    That's  nasty  now." 

"Not  at  all.  To  qualify  candour  is  a  crime.  Well, 
you  can't  go  to  St.  Moritz.  What  then?" 

"I  didn't  say  I  couldn't  go.  I  said  that  old  Ben 
Stuart,  my  trustee,  was  playing  the  fox  with  me.  He 
says  I  overdrew  a  hundred  and  ninety  last  year,  and 
it  can't  go  on.  As  if  it  was  his  own  money!" 

"Do  you  disagree  with  his  accounts?" 

He  laughed. 

"Arithmetic's  no  good  to  me.     I  was  a  bit  of  a 


88  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

flier  at  Ananias  and  Dido  at  school,  but  I  could  add 
up  a  column  every  time  and  make  it  different.  I  ought 
to  be  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer — eh,  what?  Surely, 
you  don't  mind?" 

He  nestled  his  head  against  her  knees  as  though 
this  kind  of  comfort  were  some  solatium.  Gabrielle 
was  thinking  of  John  Faber  and  of  what  his  opinion 
would  have  been  of  such  an  admission. 

"I  suppose  life  isn't  worth  living  unless  you  go  to 
St.  Moritz?" 

He  detected  no  irony. 

"How's  a  man  to  keep  fit  in  our  beastly  country? 
— then,  there's  habit.  I  believe  in  doing  to-morrow 
what  you  did  yesterday — don't  you?  If  I  stop  in 
England,  it's  covered  court  tennis,  nothing  more! 
How's  a  man  to  go  through  the  winter  on  covered 
court  tennis?" 

"The  survival  of  the  fittest.  Whatever  will  become 
of  you  on  the  yacht?" 

He  puffed  stolidly. 

"That's  vegetation.  I  can  lie  on  my  back  with 
any  man — I'm  a  plus  two  at  it.  A  man's  year  should 
include  a  month  of  it.  Then  I'm  orderly;  I  know 
just  what  I'm  going  to  do  during  the  next  two  sea- 
sons, as  sure  as  the  moon  and  stars :  cricket,  four 
months;  two  months'  shooting;  a  bit  of  hunting  if 
I  can  get  it  in,  and  if  I  can't,  then  some  pat  ball  on 
the  links.  What  more  do  you  want?" 

"Are  you  putting  the  question  to  me?" 

"I  wasn't— but  I  will!" 

"Oh,  I  should  want  a  lot  more :  to  begin  with,  a 
definite  object." 


A  RACE  FOR  AN  EMPEROR  89 

"Ah,  you're  a  girl.  My  opinion  of  men  with  defi- 
nite objects  is  that  they  are  generally  bores." 

"But  the  country  would  not  get  on  without  them, 
would  it?" 

"Don't  believe  such  nonsense,  puss.  Who's  the 
greater  man :  Asquith  or  Foster  ?  Would  you  sooner 
be  Lloyd  George  or  Bobs?  Who's  doing  more  for 
England — the  man  who  helps  to  beat  the  Australians, 
or  the  lawyers  who  put  threepence  on  the  income  tax  ? 
You  ask  the  average  man,  and  see  what  he  says." 

"The  average  man  has  not  much  brains;  he  is  the 
servant  in  the  house  of  intellect.  I  should  never  con- 
sult him  about  anything." 

"Puss,  I  know  what  you're  thinking  about — it's  that 
popgun  man." 

"Rather  inconsequent,  isn't  it  ?  You  wouldn't  aver- 
age Mr.  Faber?" 

"No,  I  suppose  he's  clever  enough.  He  makes 
money.  Old  Baker,  our  head  at  school,  always  used 
to  say  that  the  faculty  of  making  money  was  one  of 
the  most  contemptible.  But  it's  useful,  I  admit." 

"Oh,  yes,  we  all  admit  that,  and  show  our  contempt 
of  the  faculty  by  worshipping  the  possessor." 

"Do  you  worship  John  Faber?" 

"Collectively,  yes;  individually,  not  at  all." 

He  thought  upon  it. 

"I  suppose  you  had  a  jolly  time  with  him  in  Paris  ?" 

"Oh,  my  dear  Harry,  what  next?  I  saw  him  twice: 
once  in  the  corridor  of  the  hotel,  then  in  his  own 
rooms." 

"In  his  rooms !" 

"Yes;  to  tell  him  I  never  wished  to  see  him  again." 


90  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"Oh,  you  brick;  that's  the  best  thing  I've  heard. 
Of  course,  I  knew  you  would.  There's  never  been 
anything  said,  but  you  owed  that  to  me — now,  didn't 
you,  puss?" 

She  would  not  answer  him.  They  passed  to  the 
vague  intimacies  of  an  incomplete  amour,  in  which 
their  whispers  were  inaudible  and  the  sound  of 
voices  in  the  cabin  a  warning  discord.  Eva  still  played 
an  intolerable  waltz.  The  harbour  waves  sported 
about  the  dinghy,  tethered  astern.  Gabrielle  won- 
dered why  it  was  that  she  was  incapable  of  resisting 
all  this;  that  she  suffered  this  quite  brainless  boy  to 
kiss  her  at  his  pleasure — a  great  bear  with  fearsome 
limbs  cuddling  her.  Was  it  because  of  her  twenty- 
three  years  of  Suburbia?  Because  of  an  inherited 
instinct  for  the  commonplace  of  the  natural  life — 
such  a  life  as  all  about  her  lived,  and  would  live  in 
that  little  world  of  Hampstead  ?  Or  was  it  purely  the 
call  of  sex — more  potent  than  a  thousand  theories,  im- 
perious beyond  all  the  laws  of  emperors  and  kings? 

The  latter  thought  did  not  occur  to  her.  She  suf- 
fered the  spell  of  the  scene,  the  soft  airs  of  night,  the 
shining  stars,  the  harbour  lights,  the  waxing  and  wan- 
ing chords  of  distant  music.  Harry's  passionate  whis- 
pers were  like  a  message  from  afar.  She  submitted 
to  him  as  though  thus  was  her  destiny  written. 


CHAPTER  II 

LOUIS   DE   PALEOLOGUE 


Do  you  know  Ragusa — Ragusa,  the  Pearl  of  the 
Adriatic? 

It  was  here  that  the  Imperial  yacht  carried  the 
Emperor  when  at  last  he  sailed  from  Trieste — here 
that  John  Faber  saw  him  within  three  hours  of  his 
going  ashore. 

Here  also  Faber  found  the  man  he  had  sought  so 
many  years.  Louis  de  Paleologue,  who  had  taken  his 
mother  to  America  after  his  father's  death  in  Paris. 

Ragusa — what  city  is  like  to  this  of  all  that  border 
the  incomparable  shore?  Sebenico,  Zara,  Spalato — 
who  cares  if  they  perish  while  Ragusa  remains? 

Consider  how  through  the  centuries  this  little  re- 
public shut  the  gates  of  her  sanctuary  in  the  face 
alike  of  Moslem  and  of  Christian;  how  she  defied  now 
the  Turk,  now  the  Servian,  even  the  mighty  power  of 
Venice  at  its  zenith.  Neither  friend  nor  foe  coming 
to  her  for  shelter  was  refused.  She  protected  Stephen 
Nemanja,  who  fought  her  allies  of  the  Byzantine  Em- 
pire ;  she  opened  her  gates  to  Queen  Margarita,  and 
defended  them  against  the  King  of  Dalmatia.  The 
"winged  lion"  writes  no  shame  upon  her  citadel.  She 

91 


92 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

fell  at  last,  not  to  man,  but  to  the  very  earth  which 
opened  and  swallowed  her  up.  There  was  never  a 
history  of  Ragusa  after  that  fateful  year  1667.  The 
great  earthquake  ended  a  story — Napoleon  wrote  but 
a  sorry  epitaph. 

What  a  cosmopolitan  company  is  that  which  gath- 
ers every  day  within  the  tremendous  walls  of  this 
fallen  citadel.  All  the  colours  of  the  Balkan  peoples 
are  to  be  seen  here — the  flag  and  turban  of  the  Turk; 
the  white  breeches  of  the  Albanian — Joseph's  coat 
upon  the  back  of  the  son  of  the  Black  Mountain. 
Servians  are  here:  Bosnians  and  men  of  Herzego- 
vina; Italians  who  have  drifted  down  from  northern 
towns ;  Austrians  in  possession.  Crimson  clashes  with 
the  sky-blue  tunics  of  the  Austrian  officers — there  are 
deep  reds  and  glowing  tints  of  orange — all  moving  in 
kaleidoscopic  splendour  through  streets  which  the  ex- 
tended arms  may  measure;  by  churches  and  palaces, 
which  are  matchless  in  their  art.  A  city  girded  by  the 
libidinous  foliage  of  the  south;  a  city  of  half-lights 
and  shaded  cloisters;  of  a  fortress  running  out  into 
the  blue  Adriatic,  lifting  mighty  walls  to  the  caress  of 
the  kindly  seas. 

II 

Louis  de  Paleologue  had  taken  up  his  abode  in  a 
veritable  hole  in  the  wall  near  the  Dominican  mon- 
astery. The  place  was  dark  and  cavernous,  and 
might  hare  been  (but  for  its  monstrous  stones)  a 
booth  in  an  Eastern  bazaar.  When  he  worked  it  was 
in  the  cool  of  the  monastery  gardens,  the  monks  steal- 


LOUIS  DE  PALEOLOGUE  93 

ing  looks  over  his  shoulder  at  wonderful  forms  in  be- 
witching neglige — or  even  at  terpsichoreal  advertise- 
ments of  pills  and  powder.  For  despite  his  sixty-two 
years,  and  the  fact  that  he  was  a  prince  in  his  own 
country,  Louis  still  earned  his  living  by  the  adver- 
tisers, and  was  held  to  be  the  cleverest  draughtsman 
at  the  business. 

One  grievance  he  had,  and  one  joy — his  daughter 
Maryska,  nineteen  upon  her  last  birthday,  and  still  a 
child.  Maryska  like  her  father  (and  another  celebrity 
who  has  had  a  statue  raised  to  him)  never  grew  up. 
She  was  the  youngest  woman  of  nineteen  in  the  whole 
wide  world,  and  when  father  and  daughter  went  for 
"a  rag"  together,  it  was  wonderful  that  anything  at 
all  was  left  in  the  Cantina — as  he  had  named  the 
house. 

Such  days  they  passed!  Louis,  prone  in  the  sun 
with  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth;  Maryska,  flitting  about 
the  scene  like  a  schoolgirl  at  play!  They  went  hand 
in  hand  everywhere  like  sworn  friends  in  an  academy 
for  young  ladies.  What  money  they  earned  would 
be  sometimes  in  his  pocket,  sometimes  in  hers.  They 
quarrelled  babyishly — the  man  shedding  tears  more 
often  than  the  girl.  Yet  he  would  have  put  his  knife 
into  the  heart  of  any  who  did  her  injury,  with  as  lit- 
tle thought  as  he  would  have  killed  a  stray  dog  at  his 
door.  There  had  been  one  such  tragedy  at  Zara — the 
body  was  found  in  the  harbour  some  days  afterwards. 

Maryska  was  a  cosmopolitan.  She  had  starved  in 
New  York,  in  London,  in  Paris,  in  Berlin.  Now  she 
starved  in  Ragusa — except  upon  those  splendid  occa- 
sions when  a  cheque  came  from  England.  Then  the 


94 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

Austrian  banker  would  be  fetched  out  of  bed  or  cafe 
to  cash  it.  They  were  rare  days,  for  Louis  would 
knock  down  the  bottles  like  ninepins,  and  never  turn 
a  hair  whatever  their  number.  Maryska  drank  just 
as  much  as  she  could,  and  then  fell  asleep.  He  used 
to  shout  and  swear  because  she  would  not  wake  up  to 
draw  another  cork  for  him. 

Latterly,  it  had  been  the  devil  to  pay  at  the  Cantina. 
Louis  had  lived  in  prospective  upon  six  disorderly 
nymphs — all  decollete — who  were  to  have  proclaimed 
the  merits,  urbi  et  orbi,  of  a  new  suspender  for  ladies 
of  fashion.  These  drawings  were  quite  wonderful. 
The  prior  of  the  monastery  who  no  doubt,  may  have 
imagined  that  they  were  part  of  a  scheme  for  a  stained 
glass  window,  thought  very  highly  of  them.  The  Aus- 
trian officers  begged  for  copies  of  the  paper.  The 
governor  laughed  and  had  a  fit  of  coughing.  He 
wanted  to  know  where  the  models  came  from.  Louis 
would  not  tell  him  that,  except  to  say  that  they  were 
memories  of  Paris  and  New  York.  He  rarely  drew 
the  beautiful  dark  face  of  Maryska — but  there  is  a 
portrait  of  her  in  the  church  of  St.  John  the  Divine 
in  London,  and  many  would  swear  it  is  a  madonna 
of  an  old  master.  Louis  painted  it  for  the  priest,  who 
used  to  tell  him  he  was  a  scoundrel.  It  was  so  very 
true. 

Well,  the  pictures  were  drawn  and  dispatched  to 
London;  and  then  a  dreadful  thing  happened.  The 
firm,  which  understood  the  female  mysteries  so  well, 
treated  the  financial  verities  -with  a  contempt  which 
quickly  ended  in  Carey  Street.  No  cheque  came  to 
that  hole  in  the  wall  at  Ragusa.  Squat-legged  and  pa- 


LOUIS  DE  PALEOLOGUE  95 

tient,  Louis  smoked  his  cigarette  and  listened  to  Mary- 
ska's  wholly  unmelodious  music.  There  was  bread  in 
the  house,  but  no  wine.  Well,  wine  would  come  pres- 
ently. 

Wine  did  not  come,  but  in  its  place  came  John 
Faber.  For  a  moment,  Louis  thought  that  a  cus- 
tomer had  crossed  the  seas  to  buy  his  pictures.  Then 
he  said  that  the  firm,  which  was  suspended  because  of 
its  suspenders,  had  sent  an  embassy  with  the  cash. 
However  it  might  be,  he  determined  to  borrow  five 
crowns  of  the  stranger,  and  saluted  him  with  princely 
politeness. 

Maryska,  meanwhile,  stood  up  ready  to  go  to  the 
wine-shop. 

Ill 

Faber  took  off  his  hat  at  the  entrance  to  the  cavern, 
and  blinked  in  the  darkness.  He  saw  a  handsome  man 
squatting  on  the  floor,  and  behind  him  a  pair  of  eyes 
which  glowed  as  a  cat's.  They  belonged  to  Maryska ; 
but  he  did  not  know,  indeed,  he  wondered  if  there 
were  wild  beasts  in  the  place. 

"Say,  does  anyone  named  Louis  de  Paleologue  live 
here?" 

The  accent  transplanted  father  and  daughter  to 
New  York  in  an  instant.  What  years  they  had  lived 
there !  How  they  regretted  them ! 

"He  does,  sir,  and  what  then?" 

"You  are  Mr.  Paleologue?" 

"That  is  so.  My  daughter — she  doesn't  bite — at 
least,  only  me!" 


96 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

Maryska's  teeth  were  to  be  counted  on  the  instant. 
She  laughed  as  the  Italians  laugh,  without  reserva- 
tions. 

"Accidenti!"  she  cried,  and  then  coming  out  into 
the  light,  "caro  mio — he  is  too  tough,  poppa,  I  should 
spoil  my  teeth!" 

Faber  saluted  her  in  a  way  he  intended  to  be  Con- 
tinental. 

"You  have  been  in  New  York,  signorina  ?" 

"Five  years,  mister.    I  am  all  Americano!" 

"Then  I'll  walk  right  in,  if  I  may." 

He  did  not  wait  for  permission,  but  entered  the 
cavern.  It  was  evident  that  he  would  have  liked  a 
chair,  but  seeing  none,  he  accepted  a  mat  which  she 
offered. 

"Poppa  burned  all  the  chairs  long  ago.  Can  you 
sit  down  on  nothing,  mister?" 

He  said  that  he  could,  looking  at  Maryska  all  the 
while.  Louis  took  a  box  of  Bosnian  cigarettes  from 
the  floor  and  passed  it  over. 

"Say,  are  you  thirsty,  boss?" 

Faber  smiled  at  that. 

"Well,  this  is  thirsty   ground.     As  the  governor 

said — but  I  guess  ye  don't  know  what  the  governor 

» 

"Bet  you !"  He  said.  'Don't  let  it  be  long  between 
the  drinks.'  There's  a  wine-shop  two  blocks  away." 

Maryska  stepped  forward,  as  keen  as  a  hound.  She 
held  out  her  hand  for  the  money  without  any  shame 
at  all — she  and  her  father  had  been  holding  it  out 
for  years — yet  some  of  Louis'  gifts  in  return  had  been 
more  precious  than  gold. 


LOUIS  DE  PALEOLOGUE  97 

"How  much  shall  I  give  you?"  Faber  asked.  She 
replied  that  a  kronen  would  be  ample.  He  gave  it 
her,  and  she  was  away  in  a  flash. 

They  smoked  a  space  in  silence  when  she  was  gone. 
Presently  Faber  said :  "Business  good  down  this  way?" 

Louis  did  not  like  the  tone  of  it,  and  the  quills  of 
his  pride  stiffened.  "What's  that  to  you?" 

"Might  be  a  good  deal — I'm  in  dead  earnest." 

"What's  your  line — pills  or  powder?" 

"I'm  neither.    I  make  guns." 

"Want  me  to  fire  'em  off — well,  I'm  ready.  What's 
the  size?" 

Faber  smiled. 

"Not  quite  it,"  he  said;  and  then  wandering  right 
away  from  the  subject,  "I  wish  I'd  known  you  were 
in  New  York.  You  didn't  work  under  your  own 
name  there." 

"That's  so.    I  used  to  sign  just  'Louis.' ' 

"Will  you  draw  me  a  picture  of  Maryska — lor  my 
house?  A  thousand  dollars  now  and  another  thou- 
sand when  it's  delivered?" 

Louis  drew  back  a  little. 

"Why  the  girl?" 

"You  must  know  why.  There  couldn't  be  a  better 
subject." 

"Yes;  but  if  I  do  not  choose  to  do  it,  what  then?" 

"Why,  then  I'm  beaten." 

He  threw  away  the  stump  of  his  cigarette  and  took 
another.  Presently  Maryska  returned  with  the  flask 
of  white  wine  and  the  glasses  were  chinked.  The 
child  drank  a  draught  which  would  have  put  a  vintner 
to  shame.  Then  she  showed  her  pretty  teeth. 


98 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"Oh,  how  good !"  she  said,  and  then  with  a  heavenly 
sigh,  "Ecco  c'e  vuoto." 

"Think  you  could  do  another  ?"  Faber  asked  Louis. 
The  reply  was  quite  stately. 

"Sir,  I  am  at  your  disposition." 

Maryska  went  off  with  five  crowns  this  time.  When 
she  was  gone,  her  father  thawed  a  little. 

"Have  you  seen  much  of  this  place?" 

"Just  as  much  as  the  harbour  showed  me." 

"Staying  here  long?" 

"Why,  as  to  that — why  stay?" 

Paleologue  knocked  the  ashes  off  his  cigarette  with 
magnificent  dignity. 

"You  make  guns;  why  not  see  some  of  them  go 
off?" 

"Do  you  suggest  fighting?" 

"That's  so.  I'm  going  up  to  Podgorica  in  three 
days'  time,  afterwards  on  to  the  frontier.  There'll  be 
riot,  rape  and  pillage.  Like  to  come  along?" 

Faber  was  a  little  nonplussed. 

"Do  you  go  alone?"  he  asked. 

"The  girl  and  I,  certainly.  We  can  talk  business 
on  the  road.  Why  not?" 

"Oh,  I'll  come!  Here's  the  wine,  I  see.  She's  a 
wonder  that  girl  of  yours." 

Louis  assented. 

"Her  bringing  up;  she  has  forgotten  how  to  read 
and  write.  It  is  education  which  is  the  matter  nowa- 
days. I  believe  the  Greeks  knew  women.  Come  here, 
wild  cat,  and  tell  the  stranger  you  can't  read  or 
write." 

Maryska  reddened  at  this  and  cried  "Beast!"  with 


LOUIS  DE  PALEOLOGUE 99 

real  anger.  She  sulked  for  quite  a  long  time,  hiding 
in  the  dark  corner  where  only  her  glowing  eyes  could 
be  seen.  Louis  took  no  notice  of  her  tantrums;  he 
had  begun  to  be  rather  interested  in  the  stranger. 

"Say,  you  know  the  fighting  may  be  a  bit  lively. 
I'm  bound  for  Ranovica — want  to  see  it  burned. 
There  was  a  man  here  yesterday  from  the  London 
illustrated  papers.  He's  out  for  fancy  pictures  and 
put  me  on.  He's  mighty  anxious  after  the  rape  and 
pillage.  I  guess  we'll  see  something  of  tkat  at 
Ranovica." 

Faber  looked  at  the  girl;  she  did  not  seem  to  be 
listening. 

"Aren't  you  imprudent?  Isn't  it  better  to  leave 
your  daughter  here?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

Louis  did  not  understand  him.  "Where  I  go,  she 
goes.  Besides,  they  know  me  xery  well,  these  people. 
You  are  not  afraid,  mister?" 

"Afraid!    How  do  we  go?' 

"Steamer  to  Antivari." 

"I'll  take  you  on  my  yacht." 

Louis  expressed  no  surprise.  If  his  guest  had 
promised  a  warship  with  golden  plates  his  sphinx-like 
attitude  would  have  been  unchanged. 

"Just  as  you  like,"  he  said.  "We  take  the  horses 
at  Scutari  anyway." 

To  which  Faber  responded  with  a  further  offer. 
"I've  a  car  on  my  ship;  we'll  put  her  ashore  and  try 
that  road." 

Louis  shook  his  head.  "No  good  at  all ;  there  isn't 
any  damned  road.  To-day's  Saturday;  shall  we  say 
to-morrow  morning  at  ten?" 


100  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"But  it  was  to  be  three  days'  time." 

Louis  yawned.  "Oh,  d n  time!"  he  said.  "I 

never  think  of  it." 

"Then  we'll  start  to-morrow  at  ten." 

He  drank  off  his  wine  and  turned  to  look  at 
Maryska.  She  had  crept  nearer  while  they  talked, 
and  her  head  was  bent  to  the  floor  that  she  might  not 
miss  a  word.  When  Faber  held  out  his  hand  to  her 
she  leaned  upon  her  elbows  and  looked  at  him  with 
strange  eyes. 

"Good-bye,  mister!" 

"You  are  coming  on  my  ship,  Maryska." 

"Not  with  that  man,"  and  she  pointed  to  her  father. 

"Pouf!"  said  Louis.  "I  will  flay  you  with  the 
whip." 

"And  I  will  kill  you  with  my  knife,"  she  said 
quickly,  in  Italian. 

It  was  the  customary  exchange  of  their  daily  com-s 
pliments.  Louis  rather  liked  it. 

"Say,"  he  exclaimed  on  the  threshold,  "and  who 
may  you  be,  anyway?" 

"I  ?    Why,  my  name's  John  Faber." 

"Faber — Faber?  I  used  to  know  a  Faber  in  Paris 
in  the  'seventies." 

"His  son,  sir." 

Louis  turned  his  cigarette  over  in  his  mouth. 

"How  did  you  hear  of  me?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  I  got  your  name  in  Paris.  The  New  York 
Mitre  people  gave  it  to  me." 

"That's  odd;  I  used  to  know  your  mother  forty 
years  ago.  Well,  so  long,"  and  he  turned  on  his  heel. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE     DAMNABLE     MOUNTAINS 

This  was  a  bitter  winter  on  the  Albanian  frontier, 
and  God  alone  knows  how  the  party  got  to  Ranovica 
at  all. 

None  but  a  madman  would  have  attempted  the 
journey  at  such  a  moment  in  the  story  of  the  Balkans ; 
but  as  John  Faber  remarked,  it  needed  a  double- 
barrelled  charge  of  insanity  to  venture  it  in  the  winter. 
Yet  he  had  told  Maryska  that  he  would  go,  and  go 
he  did. 

What  a  country,  and  what  a  people !  The  Almighty 
seemed  to  have  blasted  the  mountains  and  the  moun- 
taineers alike.  Such  a  wilderness  of  grey  rocks,  of 
weirdly  scarped  precipices,  of  awful  caverns  and  fear- 
some valleys  is  to  be  imagined  by  none  who  have  not 
visited  it. 

Depict  a  range  of  mountains  built  up  of  the  barren 
limestone  into  a  myriad  fearsome  shapes  of  dome  and 
turret,  castle  and  battlement.  In  the  valleys  far  be- 
low, put  the  gardens  of  the  world,  fertile  beyond  all 
dreams ;  where  the  grapes  grow  as  long  as  the  fingers 
on  your  hand,  and  every  tropical  plant  luxuriates. 
Drive  humanity  from  this  scene  and  deliver  it  up  to 
the  world  and  the  bear.  Such  is  the  frontier  of  Al- 
bania where  it  debouches  upon  Montenegro — such  are 

101 


102  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

the  "damnable  mountains,"  as  every  Christian  in  their 
vicinity  has  learned  to  call  them. 

A  desert  upon  an  altitude,  and  yet  it  is  not  wholly 
a  desert.  Here  and  there  ensconced  in  nook  and 
cranny  you  will  come  upon  an  oasis  where  a  village 
harbours  wild  people  and  a  scanty  patch  of  fertile  soil 
keeps  body  and  soul  together.  Such  a  place  was 
Ranovica,  to  which  Louis  de  Paleologue  led  his  guest 
on  the  sixth  day  afterwards.  They  came  up  to  it  at 
three  o'clock  upon  that  December  afternoon  when  the 
sun  was  magnificent  over  the  Western  Adriatic,  and 
even  these  desolate  hills  had  been  fired  to  warmth  and 
colour. 

An  odd  party — three  upon  cheeky  little  Hungarian 
horses;  three  upon  mules.  Frank,  the  American  valet, 
had  much  to  say  about  the  habits  and  character  of 
the  mule,  but  he  reserved  it  until  they  should  be  safely 
upon  the  yacht  again.  The  other  two  servants  were 
Austrians  who  had  been  heavily  bribed  for  the  ven- 
ture— even  they  would  have  refused  had  they  under- 
stood that  it  was  for  an  expedition  to  Ranovica.  This 
hole  in  the  hill  was  full  of  savage  Christians  who 
hated  the  Montenegrins  much,  but  the  Moslem  a  good 
deal  more.  It  was  bound  to  be  burned  sooner  or  later. 

Ranovica  has  a  fine  old  gate  built  by  Stephen  of 
Bosnia,  heaven  knows  how  many  years  ago.  The 
party  rode  through  this  just  after  three  o'clock,  and 
was  challenged  immediately  by  half-a-dozen  warriors 
with  the  most  wonderful  white  breeches  the  Western 
world  has  seen.  Already,  and  when  far  down  the 
valley,  the  outposts  of  the  little  force  defending  this 
wild  place  had  put  the  travellers  through  a  searching 


THE  DAMNABLE  MOUNTAINS          103 

inquisition;  but  they  had  to  face  another  ordeal  at 
the  gate,  and  lucky  for  them  that  Louis  spoke  Servian 
so  fluently.  The  soldiers  listened  to  him  as  though  a 
brother  was  speaking.  They  looked  at  Maryska  with 
wide  black  eyes.  Why  not? — she  was  good  to  look 
upon,  surely,  with  her  high  boots  and  crimson  breeches 
and  little  Greek  cap.  Faber  himself  had  looked  at  her 
a  great  many  times  on  the  way  up,  but  he  was  by  no 
means  pleased  that  she  should  become  the  cynosure 
of  so  many  evil  eyes. 

"Well?"  he  said  to  her,  while  Louis  played  the 
millionaire  among  the  wild  men,  "and  what  do  you 
think  of  this,  young  lady?" 

She  was  still  upon  her  pretty  little  horse  and  her 
eyes  were  here,  there  and  everywhere;  but  not  with 
the  curiosity  an  untravelled  woman  would  have  dis- 
played. Maryska  had  seen  too  much  of  the  world  to 
be  troubled  by  Ranovica.  Besides,  she  was  hungry. 

"I  think  my  father  is  a  fool  to  come  here,  and  you 
also,  boss,  that  is  what  I  think." 

"Guess  you've  hit  it  first  time.  Are  you  hungry, 
Maryska  ?" 

"Why,  yes.    Are  you,  boss  ?" 

She  imitated  her  father  perfectly,  and  Faber 
laughed.  They  were  in  a  street  so  narrow  that  his 
horse  had  a  head  in  the  window  upon  one  side  of  the 
road  and  a  tail  in  a  window  upon  the  other.  A  tre- 
mendous battlement  of  rock  lifted  a  sheer  precipice 
far  up  above  this  peopled  gorge.  In  the  shadows  there 
moved  a  fierce  people,  savage,  wild,  hunted.  They 
gathered  round  the  strangers  menacingly,  and  but  for 
the  old  white-haired  priest,  even  Louis'  gift  of  tongues 


104  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

might  not  have  saved  them.  The  priest,  however,  liked 
the  jingle  of  good  Austrian  crowns.  Let  the  strangers 
come  to  his  house,  he  said,  the  inn  was  not  fit  to 
harbour  a  dog. 

So  the  party  rode  on  a  furlong — the  men,  the  girl, 
the  American  valet  and  the  Austrians.  At  every  step 
the  crowd  pressed  about  them,  black  and  scowling. 
It  was  good  at  last  to  enter  an  open  courtyard  and  to 
see  that  none  followed.  Dark  was  coming  down  then 
and  lights  shining  from  the  windows  of  the  miserable 
houses.  Faber  remembered  that  he  had  communicated 
with  the  Turkish  authorities  before  setting  out  and 
congratulated  himself  upon  his  prudence. 

"They'll  want  my  guns,  and  so  they'll  want  me," 
he  said. 

But  he  was  still  mightily  anxious  about  Maryska. 

II 

The  priest's  house  was  about  as  big  as  a  cow-house 
and  as  filthy  as  a  Spanish  podesta.  Of  food  there 
was  little  save  coarse  bread  and  villainous-looking 
brandy.  Here  the  guests  came  to  the  rescue,  for  Louis 
had  carried  up  victuals  at  Faber's  expense,  and  now 
the  good  things  were  spread  upon  old  "Pop's"  table, 
to  that  worthy's  exceeding  satisfaction.  None  ate 
with  better  appetite  than  he ;  none  smacked  fine  lips  so 
loudly  over  the  good  white  wine,  unless  it  were 
Maryska. 

Louis  had  christened  him  "Old  Pop"  immediately, 
and  he  talked  to  him  in  voluble  Servian  during  the 
repast.  Occasionally  he  interpreted  at  Maryska's  re- 


THE  DAMNABLE  MOUNTAINS          105 

quest,  and  fragments  of  talk  were  tossed  down  to  her 
as  bones  to  a  dog.  They  made  the  girl  laugh,  but 
Faber  found  them  grim  enough.  He  was  asking 
"What  does  he  say?"  almost  at  every  sentence.  Louis 
picked  out  the  tit-bits  and  passed  them  on. 

"There  were  Turks  nine  miles  from  here  the  day 
before  yesterday.  They  burned  Nitzke,  and  killed  the 
women ;  some  of  the  Nitzke  people  are  here  now ;  one 
has  lost  his  nose — yes,  they  always  cut  off  the  noses, 
and  so  do  our  fellows  when  they  catch  a  Turk.  This 
place  would  be  easy  to  hold  if  there  were  troops,  but, 
of  course,  Nicholas  can't  send  any  until  war  is  de- 
clared. Pop  hopes  that  Alussein  Pasha  won't  find  us. 
If  he  does,  there'll  be  a  massacre;  yes,  it  will  be  in  the 
next  two  or  three  days.  You're  not  behind  the  times, 
sir;  you'll  see  the  fun  if  there  is  any." 

Faber  looked  at  Maryska,  and  discovered  that  she 
was  looking  at  him.  Evidently  she  shared  her  father's 
whim  of  exaggeration  and  her  curiosity  as  to  "the 
stranger's"  behaviour  was  now  awake.  These  odd 
terms:  "boss,"  "stranger,"  "master,"  picked  up  from 
the  backwoods  of  America  twenty  years  ago,  pleased 
the  Southern  ear,  and  were  guarded  tenaciously. 
Maryska  wished  to  frighten  this  American,  and  would 
have  been  delighted  had  she  succeeded. 

"What  shall  you  do  if  they  come?"  she  asked  him. 

He  said,  as  quickly:  "I  should  go  to  bed,"  and  at 
that  she  laughed  again. 

"And  what  will  you  do  ?"  he  asked  her.  She  leered 
as  she  put  a  whole  sardine  into  her  capacious  mouth. 

"I  shall  see  them  fight.  Men  are  for  fighting — • 
women  to  see  them.  In  your  country,  you  have  no 


106  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

soldiers.  All  the  Americans  talk  a  heap  about  it,  but 
none  of  them  have  seen  anything  at  all.  You  will  be 
a  great  good  man  after  this,  boss!" 

He  opened  his  eyes. 

"Why  a  great  good  man?" 

"Because  you  will  have  seen  something  that  is  great 
and  good." 

He  was  very  much  astonished. 

"Do  you  mean  that  killing  other  men  is  great  and 
good,  Maryska?" 

Her  face  wore  a  pensive  attitude,  but  she  still  had 
one  eye  upon  the  comestibles. 

"I  think  they  are  a  brave  people.  I  think  it  is  great 
and  good  to  fight  for  your  country." 

"Well,  wouldn't  the  Americans  fight  for  theirs  ?" 

"Perhaps;  I  don't  know.  You  are  all  too  clever  to 
think  about  anything  but  money.  He  says  so." 

"Isn't  money  a  very  good  thing  to  think  about?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  great  contempt. 

"I  was  not  born  a  shopkeeper,"  she  said,  and  then, 
"Ask  poppa  and  hear  what  he  will  say." 

He  nodded  his  head. 

"Why  has  poppa  come  to  Ranovica?" 

"To  draw  pictures  for  the  papers,  yes." 

"Is  it  for  money  ?" 

"If  he  will  receive  it,  yes;  if  he  does  not  like  the 
people  he  will  not  receive  it." 

"Then  how  will  you  live,  Maryska?" 

She  tossed  her  head. 

"We  shall  live  very  well,  sir;  my  father  is  a  noble 
in  his  own  country.  He  will  not  be  insulted  by  such 
people ;  he  is  very  proud." 


THE  DAMNABLE  MOUNTAINS          107 

And  then  she  said  with  a  ridiculous  want  of  gravity, 
"And  so  am  I.  Please  to  give  me  some  of  the  choco- 
lates, sir.  The  old  Pop  will  eat  them  all." 

He  passed  her  the  chocolates  and  helped  himself 
to  a  cigar  from  one  of  his  own  boxes.  The  room  was 
long  and  narrow,  the  walls  wainscoted  in  oak  and 
painted  a  dirty  pink  above.  An  ikon  hung  in  a  corner, 
for  "Pop"  was  of  the  Greek  Orthodox  Church,  and 
very  devout — when  he  was  not  drunk.  The  latter 
appeared  now  to  be  his  condition,  and  when  they  rose 
from  the  table,  he  insisted  upon  taking  them  out  into 
the  village  that  they  might  hear  him  harangue  the 
people.  Night  had  come  down  at  this  time,  but  no  one 
thought  of  sleep  in  that  oasis  of  the  bleak  mountains. 
Far  up  on  the  desolate  hills  were  the  sentries  who 
would  tell  Ranovica  of  the  Turks'  approach.  In  the 
street  itself  moved  a  heterogeneous  company  of  old 
and  young  men,  and  women  and  laughing  girls,  every- 
one carrying  a  revolver  in  the  girdle  and  some  armed 
to  the  very  teeth.  A  babble  of  excited  talk  fell  upon 
the  night  air  as  a  hum  of  insects.  What  was  in  store 
for  the  people  of  this  new  citadel?  Would  the 
Turk  come  or  pass  them  by?  God  and  the  morrow 
must  answer. 


Ill 

It  was  a  far  cry  to  the  great  arsenals  at  Charleston, 
but  Faber^  mind  crossed  the  seas  when  he  walked 
alone  that  night  in  the  street  before  the  priest's  house. 
What  particular  freak  of  a  latent  insanity  had  sent 
him  to  this  place? 


108 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

Was  it  curiosity  or  the  girl  ?  Just  the  passing  fancy 
for  the  wildest  little  woman  he  had  ever  met  or  the 
desire  to  see  his  fellow  men  butchered?  One  or  the 
other  it  must  be,  and  he  was  too  honest  to  deny  it. 
Either  Maryska  or  the  Turkish  butcher,  scimitar  in 
hand. 

If  it  were  the  girl,  his  vain  folly  had  met  with  a 
swift  rebuke.  Looking  up  to  her  bedroom  window, 
he  remembered  her  "good-night,"  and  the  manner  of 
it.  She  had  told  him  that  he  was  an  "old,  old  man," 
and  the  words  struck  him  as  a  thunderclap.  An  "oldv, 
old  man !"  Good  God !  had  so  much  of  his  life  already 
run?  No  one  had  ever  spoken  such  words  before  and 
his  vanity  bristled.  Had  the  girl  been  serious,  or  did 
she  speak  in  jest? 

An  "old,  old  man" — and  he  was  not  forty.  In 
America,  it  is  true,  they  have  little  use  for  forty  unless 
forty  can  command  allegiance.  He,  John  Faber,  had 
ruled  a  city  in  Charleston.  His  works  employed  more 
than  five  thousand  men;  he  was  the  high  priest  of 
the  temples  of  labour  his  own  brain  had  built  up.  No 
one  remembered  his  age  there.  They  spoke  of  him 
as  "the  new  Krupp,"  the  young  genius  in  steel  who 
could  make  or  mar  the  fortunes  of  empires.  The 
women  pursued  him  relentlessly,  remembering  his 
eleven  millions.  He  could  have  led  the  life  of  an 
Oriental  debauchee  and  no  one  criticise  him.  To  read 
the  papers — many  of  which  he  owned — you  might 
have  set  him  down  for  twenty-five.  This  chit  of  a 
wild  girl  had  burst  the  bubble  with  a  little  pin  prick  of 
her  candour.  An  old,  old  man !  The  words  raked  his 
self-assurance,  he  could  have  boxed  her  ears  for  them. 


THE  DAMNABLE  MOUNTAINS          109 

If  not  Maryska,  what,  then,  had  brought  him  to 
Ranovica  ? 

Was  it  to  see  if  he  could  witness  something  of  that 
\vild  life  of  the  Balkans  which  had  stirred  his  imagina- 
tion in  the  past?  When  quite  a  lad  he  had  read  of 
these  villages  and  of  what  befell  them  when  the  Turk 
came  in.  One  incident  he  had  never  forgotten;  it 
was  on  the  Macedonian  frontier  where  a  little  town 
had  been  sacked,  the  men  butchered  or  burned  by 
naphtha,  the  women  violated,  the  old  priest  flayed 
alive.  He  had  the  account  of  it  in  the  Illustrated 
London  News  among  his  papers  to  that  very  day. 
Such  a  village  as  this  might  have  been  the  scene  of  it ! 

He  passed  on,  musing  deeply,  and  presently  met 
an  Albanian  posted  at  the  head  of  the  street.  The 
soldier  had  an  American  rifle,  and  he  discovered  that 
it  had  come  from  his  own  factory  at  Charleston.  He 
gave  the  man  a  couple  of  crowns,  and  the  fellow 
grinned  savagely,  pointing  at  the  same  time  up  to  the 
silent  hills.  There  were  Turks  somewhere  up  there, 
and  he  would  shoot  them.  The  rifle  was  about  to  do 
that  for  which  it  was  made.  Faber  would  see  the 
fruit  of  his  own  work. 

He  walked  on  a  little  way  and  met  his  valet,  Frank. 
The  young  man  spoke  German  fluently,  and  had 
learned  a  good  deal  from  the  Austrian  porters.  He 
was  much  alarmed  by  his  situation,  and  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  say  so. 

"They  tell  me  an  attack  is  expected,  sir.  We  shall 
fare  badly  in  this  hole  if  it  comes  off.  I  don't  think 
the  authorities  can  do  much  for  us ;  what's  more,  there 
ain't  any." 


110  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

Faber  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets — a  habit 
of  his — and  walked  a  little  way  by  his  servant's  side. 

"Why,"  he  said  half  reflectively,  "it  isn't  exactly  the 
Ritz  Hotel  to  be  sure.  Who's  been  talking,  Frank?" 

"All  of  them,  sir,  all  together.  Turks  are  known 
to  be  five  miles  away  and  the  young  lieutenant  expects 
them  to  ride  in  before  morning.  He  says  passports 
are  a  sure  road  to  paradise — you  can  get  to  heaven 
quicker  on  an  ambassador's  signature  than  on  any 
other.  I'd  do  this  block  next  time  if  I  was  you,  Mr. 
Faber,  to  be  sure  I  would.  We  may  all  have  our 
throats  cut  before  morning." 

Faber  chewed  his  cigar  heavily. 

"Mr.  Paleologue  doesn't  think  it;  he's  been  among 
them  before.  He  says  the  Turks  like  newspaper  men ; 
he's  one  of  them.  I  advised  our  people  in  Constanti- 
nople I  was  coming,  and  I  don't  suppose  they've  gone 
to  sleep.  Anyway,  can  you  fire  a  gun,  Frank?" 

Frank  turned  a  little  pale. 

"I'd  sooner  see  others  fire  it,  sir." 

"True  enough,  and  guns  won't  be  much  good  if  the 
knives  get  going.  I  think  we'll  move  on  to-morrow, 
Frank;  we'll  learn  what  happens  from  the  news- 
papers." 

"I  wish  you'd  go  to-night,  sir." 

Faber  shook  his  head. 

"There's  the  young  lady  to  be  thought  of.  I  guess 
she's  asleep.  It's  got  to  be  the  morning,  anyway." 

"At  any  particular  hour,  sir?" 

"As  early  as  you  like,  Frank,  if  mademoiselle  is 
ready." 

The  young  man  went  off  more  afraid  than  he  would 


THE  DAMNABLE  MOUNTAINS          111 

say,  but  glad  of  the  crumb  of  comfort.  His  master, 
however,  continued  to  walk  up  and  down  the  narrow 
street  before  the  house  and  to  regard  the  cold  moun- 
tains wistfully.  What  an  odd  scene!  What  a  place 
for  him  to  be  in!  The  hole  was  full  of  the  queerest 
people  he  had  met  in  all  his  travels.  Every  hour  added 
to  the  multitude  of  souls,  while  as  for  the  inn  or  guest- 
house, it  might  have  been  a  barracks.  Albanians  whose 
belts  were  full  of  knives  and  revolvers  wrangled  with 
refugees  from  the  mountains  who  had  fled  before  the 
Turks;  there  were  travellers,  police,  wild  women,  sol- 
diers, all  boxed  up  together  like  sardines  in  a  tin ;  and 
to  add  to  the  uproar  a  mechanical  organ  played  the 
"Merry  Widow"  waltz  without  an  interval.  From 
time  to  time  shrieks  were  to  be  heard  and  the  sound 
of  blows.  A  man  would  come  reeling  out  into  the 
street  with  bloody  face  or  gashed  limbs.  One  of  them 
fell  dead  almost  at  the  door  of  the  priest's  house,  but 
no  one  took  any  notice  of  him.  As  for  Louis  de 
Paleologue  and  "old  Pop"  they  were  far  too  busy 
getting  drunk  together  to  observe  such  a  trifle. 

Faber  assured  himself  that  the  man  was  quite  dead, 
and  chancing  upon  two  immense  Albanians  who  were 
coming  down  the  narrow  street,  he  told  them  as  much 
of  the  story  as  gestures  would  permit.  They  shrugged 
their  shoulders  and  entered  the  guest-house,  whence 
two  or  three  tipsy  fellows  emerged  presently  to  drag 
the  dead  man  away  as  though  the  body  were  a  sack. 
Following  them  to  the  lower  end  of  the  village,  Faber 
perceived  them  disappear  upon  a  narrow  path  by  the 
side  of  the  gorge  he  had  climbed  that  afternoon,  and 
he  had  no  doubt  that  they  would  throw  the  dead  man 


112  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

into  the  ravine,  and  leave  the  wolves  to  perform  the 
last  obsequies.  He  followed  them  no  further,  but 
stood  a  little  while  breathing  the  cool  air  and  looking 
over  toward  Scutari.  There  lay  Antivari  and  his 
own  yacht.  His  voyage  had  been  successful  enough, 
and  he  had  found  the  Emperor  complaisant,  but  this 
estimate  of  his  success  was  attended  by  another 
thought,  and  it  concerned  a  woman.  Sir  Jules  Achon 
would  be  at  Ragusa  by  this  time.  Had  Sir  Jules  seen 
the  Emperor,  and  if  so,  to  what  end? 

Here  was  a  memory  of  Gabrielle  Silvester  speaking 
to  him,  and  in  some  way  moving  him  to  an  exaltation 
of  success,  not  wholly  chivalrous. 

Had  he  not  wagered  that  he  would  obtain  an  audi- 
ence of  the  Kaiser,  while  the  ridiculous  ambassadors 
of  a  silly  sentimentalism  were  still  dreaming  of  their 
projects?  And  what  he  had  promised,  he  had  per- 
formed. The  new  Faber  rifle  would  go  to  Germany — 
manufactured  in  part  by  Krupps,  in  part  at  Charleston. 
Meanwhile,  universal  peace  remained  a  pretty  topic 
for  public  platforms,  and  for  certain  distinguished 
old  gentlemen  whose  philanthropy  all  the  world  ad- 
mired. He,  John  Faber,  owed  something  to  it  for  it 
had  introduced  him  to  one  of  the  cleverest  women  he 
had  met  in  all  his  life,  and  this  could  be  said  despite 
their  dramatic  farewell.  The  latter  troubled  him,  to 
be  sure,  but  he  did  not  despair  of  her  when  he  remem- 
bered that  the  ugly  business  in  Paris  could  yet  be  set 
straight.  Claudine  d'Arny  must  have  a  husband 
bought  for  her  as  other  women  have  jewels  or  toy 
dogs.  It  should  not  be  beyond  his  resources  to  con- 
trive as  much. 


THE  DAMNABLE  MOUNTAINS          113 

He  lighted  a  new  cigar  upon  this  pleasant  realisa- 
tion of  power — a  gratification  which  his  busy  life 
made  rare — and  turning  about,  he  retraced  his  steps 
toward  Ranovica.  The  contrast  between  the  lonely 
mountains  which  guarded  the  valley  and  the  hive  of 
armed  men  within  was  sharp  enough,  but  it  interested 
him  at  the  moment  less  than  other  omens  which  a 
quick  ear  detected.  The  stillness  seemed  to  him  al- 
most unnatural.  He  could  have  sworn  at  one  place 
that  a  face  peered  down  at  him  from  a  cranny  of  the 
precipice  above,  and,  upon  that,  there  came  from  afar 
the  echo  of  a  rifle  shot.  He  was  sure  of  it,  faint  as 
was  the  report  and  difficult  to  locate.  A  rifle  shot  over 
there  beyond  the  great  mountain  which  protected 
Ranovica  from  the  northern  winds !  Long  he  listened 
for  any  repetition  of  the  firing,  but  hearing  none,  re- 
turned at  last  to  the  priest's  house.  His  nerves  were 
playing  tricks  with  him,  he  said.  It  was  time  to  have 
done  with  it.  There  was  a  light  in  Maryska's  room 
and  a  shadow  upon  the  blind  said  that  she  was  not  yet 
in  bed.  Faber  smiled  as  he  looked  up  and  remembered 
her  words. 

"An  old,  old  man." 

What  had  put  it  into  the  little  cat's  head  to  call 
him  that  ? 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  BURNING  OF  RANOVICA 

There  were  two  beds  in  the  room,  and  one  was 
occupied  already  by  Louis  de  Paleologue,  who  lay  in 
a  heavy  stupor,  but  was  not  properly  asleep.  Faber 
had  slept  in  such  rooms  before — in  the  old  wild  days 
when  he  had  travelled  in  Western  America  to  sell 
revolvers  to  a  Christian  people,  who  were  set  upon 
shooting  other  Christians.  This  room  impressed 
chiefly  by  its  omnipresent  suggestions  of  profound 
filthiness.  He  feared  to  touch  anything  in  it — the 
chairs,  the  walls,  the  very  coverlet  on  the  bed.  His 
own  rugs  were  his  armament.  He  wrapped  himself 
in  them  from  head  to  foot,  and  fell  asleep  at  last,  still 
wondering  in  his  dreams  why,  in  God's  name,  he  had 
come  to  Ranovica. 

When  he  awoke,  it  was  at  a  touch  of  the  hand  of 
his  valet  Frank.  He  felt  heavy  and  drowsy,  and  knew 
that  he  had  missed  a  good  night's  rest — indispensable 
to  men  whose  brains  are  dominant.  It  was  already 
light,  and  the  curtains  were  drawn  back  from  the 
window.  He  sat  up  to  listen  and  became  aware  of  a 
strange  hubbub  in  the  street  without. 

"Why,  what  are  you  saying,  Frank;  what's  that 
you're  telling  me?" 

114 


THE  BURNING  OF  RANQVICA  115 

The  valet  was  ghastly  pale;  he  walked  upon  tip- 
toe as  though  afraid  of  being  heard;  his  voice  was 
hardly  more  than  the  whisper  of  polite  servitude. 
"The  soldiers  are  in,  sir — it's  all  up  with  Ranovica." 
"You  don't  say  so!    When  did  they  come  in?" 
"Five  minutes  ago,  sir.     Don't  you  hear  that — my 
God,  don't  you  hear  it,  sir?" 

There  is  no  mistaking  the  cry  of  a  man  who  is 
being  butchered  by  knives,  and  Faber  could  not  mis- 
take it  then.  He  sprang  out  of  bed  at  a  bound  and 
ran  to  the  window.  The  street  below  was  full  of 
Turks — the  red  fez,  the  baggy  blue  breeches  were 
everywhere.  Leaning  out  to  get  a  better  view,  he  saw 
a  huge  Albanian  held  down  by  four  assassins  who  had 
the  faces  of  the  devils  in  the  pictures.  Another,  like 
to  them,  had  a  broad  butcher's  knife  in  his  hand,  and 
was  deliberately  hacking  the  prone  man's  head  from 
his  shoulders.  It  was  clumsily  done  and  the  wretch 
shrieked  horribly  at  every  cut  upon  the  bare  flesh. 
His  blood  already  ran  in  the  gutters,  where  it  mingled 
with  the  blood  of  fifty  others. 

A  sense  of  utter  helplessness — of  a  sickness  and 
horror  he  had  not  yet  experienced,  held  Faber  to  the 
window  for  some  minutes.  He  could  look  at  nothing 
else  but  the  outstretched  figure  and  the  clumsy  knife. 
When  head  and  body  at  length  were  torn  apart,  and 
the  former  held  up  on  the  end  of  a  scimitar,  a  loud 
shout  of  fury  escaped  him,  and  he  ran  across  the  room 
for  his  revolver.  The  uproar  had  awakened  Paleo- 
logue,  who  sat  bolt  upright  watching  his  friend.  When 
he  perceived  the  revolver  in  his  hand,  he  sprang  out 
of  bed  and  caught  him  in  powerful  arms. 


116  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"What  are  you  doing,  boss — what  d d  nonsense 

is  this?" 

"I  tell  you  they're  hacking  men  to  pieces  in  the  street 
out  yonder.  Let  me  go — by  God,  I  can't  stand  it." 

"Say,  don't  be  a  fool.  Do  you  think  you  can  shoot 
a  regiment?  Keep  that  pistol  out  of  sight,  and  hold 
your  tongue.  We'll  have  them  up  here  if  you  butt  in 
like  that !  Don't  you  understand  it  isn't  our  business  ? 

Why,  you're  more  d d  nuisance  than  any  woman 

— and  you  talk  as  much.  Now,  be  quiet,  and  hear  me 
out.  You've  got  to  sit  this  through  and  say  nothing. 
I'll  do  the  talking  for  myself  and  the  girl.  You  look 
on  and  remember  why  you're  here.  Haven't  you 
sense  enough  at  your  age  ?" 

The  irony  of  it  stung  Faber,  and  he  put  the  pistol 
down.  The  frightened  valet  still  looked  out  of  the 
window  and  howled  at  intervals,  as  though  he  himself 
were  already  in  the  hands  of  the  Turks.  They  could 
hear  rifle  shots,  sometimes  a  volley,  then  a  few  strag- 
gling reports,  which  spoke  of  fugitives,  who  were  mak- 
ing a  dash  for  the  mountains.  In  the  street  itself,  it 
seemed  that  men  scurried  hither  and  thither  as  rats 
from  their  holes.  Shouts  of  triumph  were  followed  by 
sharp  cries  of  pain,  often  by  groans  and  the  shrill 
screams  of  women.  The  air  came  pungent  with  the 
odour  of  gunpowder.  In  the  room  itself  there  was 
now  silence  save  for  the  servant's  bellowing.  Paleo- 
logue  dressed  himself  without  any  fuss  whatever,  and 
he  did  not  utter  a  single  word.  When  he  was  quite 
ready,  he  went  out  into  the  street  immediately — Faber 
at  his  heels.  No  one  had  asked  for  Maryska. 

Paleologue  was  wearing  a  ridiculous  suit  of  yellow 


THE  BURNING  OF  RANOVICA          117 

tweed  at  this  time,  and  a  green  Homburg  hat  with  a 
feather  in  it.  He  carried  no  other  weapons  than  a 
cigarette  case  and  a  box  of  matches.  The  Turks 
round  about  eyed  him  with  amazement  not  untempered 
by  curiosity;  but  before  any  of  them  could  make  a 
movement  he  shouted  out  in  their  own  tongue  that  he 
was  an  English  newspaper  correspondent,  and  their 
rifles  were  lowered.  Doffing  his  cap  to  a  man  upon  a 
little  grey  horse,  who  appeared  to  be  their  officer,  the 
artist  crossed  the  street  and  offered  him  a  cigarette, 
speaking  rapidly  in  the  careless  way  he  could  com- 
mand, whatever  the  language.  Faber  listened  open 
mouthed.  He  thought  that  he  was  as  near  to  death 
as  ever  he  had  been  in  his  nine  and  thirty  years,  and 
he  made  no  poor  guess. 

"What  does  he  say,  Frank?"  the  question  was 
hurled  up  at  the  window  where  the  valet's  white  face 
could  be  seen.  He  might  as  well  have  asked  the  fellow 
a  question  in  Chinese. 

"I  don't  know,  sir.    I  think  he  is  mad." 

"I  guess  we  were  all  mad  to  come  here.  My  God ! 
what  a  slaughter-house!" 

No  truer  description  of  the  scene  could  have  been 
uttered  by  any  man.  The  streets  of  Ravonica  had 
become  a  shambles.  Turks  ran  in  and  out  of  the 
distant  houses  like  dogs  at  a  warren.  There  were 
twenty  headless  bodies  within  ten  yards  of  the  captain 
in  command.  From  the  door  of  the  inn  or  guest- 
house a  broad  eddy  of  blood  was  oozing  away  to  the 
gutter ;  they  could  hear  the  troops  within  looting  and 
ravaging  at  their  pleasure,  while  the  wretched  organ 
still  played  some  trumpery  waltz  in  irony  most  won- 


118  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

derful.  So  dreadful  it  was  that  Faber,  who  believed 
that  he  knew  the  whole  story  of  war,  staggered  back 
in  a  revolt  of  nausea  and  would  have  re-entered  the 
priest's  house  but  for  Paleologue's  imperative  sum- 
mons. The  artist  had  never  been  more  at  home.  He 
wore  his  hat  jauntily  and  smoked  with  gusto  while 
he  talked  to  the  captain. 

"Say,  boss,  come  and  report  yourself.  This  is 
Alussein  Pasha.  He  has  had  word  of  you  from 
headquarters;  just  shake  and  look  as  pleased  as  you 
can." 

Faber  shook  hands  with  the  man,  while  Louis 
offered  him  a  cigarette  and  struck  matches  for  them 
all.  The  concomitants  of  the  ghastly  scene  were 
wholly  out  of  place  and  singularly  at  variance  with 
the  truth.  These  three  men  might  have  met  by  acci- 
dent in  this  outlandish  village  and  have  been  discussing 
the  best  road  back  to  civilization.  The  bloody  struggle, 
still  proceeding  in  the  miserable  hovels  round  about, 
moved  Alussein  Pasha  no  more  than  did  the  howling 
of  dogs  in  an  Eastern  street.  And  Paleologue  was 
just  as  indifferent  until  some  of  the  ruffians  fetched 
out  "old  Pop"  by  the  hair  of  his  head  and  held  a 
scimitar  at  his  throat.  Then,  to  be  fair  to  him,  he 
woke  up  to  the  truth  and  began  to  argue  excitedly 
with  the  Pasha — at  which  moment  also  Maryska  ap- 
peared at  a  window  above  and  spoke  to  her  father  in 
Italian.  He  answered  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  bid- 
ding her  disappear;  but  not  before  a  Turkish  subaltern 
had  seen  her  and  thrown  her  a  kiss  in  the  Western 
fashion.  This  was  too  much  for  Louis,  who  knocked 
him  down  out  of  hand. 


THE  BURNING  OF  RANOVICA          119 

Undoubtedly  it  was  a  mad  act,  and  went  near  to 
costing  the  lives  of  the  party.  Alussein  Pasha  uttered 
a  roar  like  a  stricken  bull  when  his  officer  was  floored ; 
the  Turks  about  him  drew  their  knives  and  pressed 
upon  Faber  with  fierce  shouts.  He  had  as  good  as 
given  it  up,  and  thought  that  this  was  the  end  of  the 
business,  when  a  young  man  at  the  Pasha's  side  said 
something  to  his  chief  in  an  earnest  note  and  appeared 
to  bring  that  savage  worthy  to  his  senses.  He  roared 
an  order  to  the  hawking  pack,  and  they  fell  back  from 
the  prey  they  had  marked  down.  An  excited  exchange 
of  doubtful  compliments  between  Louis  and  the  grand 
Turk  was  followed  by  a  compromise,  Alussein  stipu- 
lating for  an  immediate  return  to  the  shelter  of  the 
priest's  house  until  the  affair  was  over.  So,  in  they 
went,  the  soldiers  half  pushing  them  with  the  butts  of 
their  rifles  and  barring  the  door  behind  them.  "Old 
Pop"  was  the  only  prisoner  now.  They  had  forgotten 
him  in  the  excitement  of  that  very  critical  moment 
through  which  they  had  passed. 

"Have  a  drink?"  said  Louis,  throwing  himself  into 
a  chair  by  the  window  and  his  hat  into  another;  he 
seemed  quite  unconcerned,  even  unaware  that  there 
had  been  an  instant  of  peril.  John  Faber,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  talking  to  himself  in  decided  terms. 

"John,  my  boy,  you're  a  d d  fool  to  be  here,"  he 

was  saying — and  that  was  very  true.  When  he  had 
drunk  a  tumbler  of  white  wine  and  mineral  water  he 
found  the  sweat  running  off  him  like  rain. 

"Hot  weather  for  the  time  of  year.  Where's  your 
girl,  Louis?" 

"Oh!  I  guess  she's  all  right — better  where  she  is. 


120 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

Will  you  pass  over  that  drawing  pad?     I  can  see  a 
picture  here." 

Faber  passed  him  the  pad,  and  he  settled  deep  in* 
the  arm-chair  and  began  to  make  a  rapid  sketch  of ' 
the  crowded  street.      At  the  same  moment  Maryska 
entered  the  room  and  closed  the  door  firmly  behind 
her. 

II 

"Where  is  the  priest?"  she  asked  them  in  a  strange 
tone.  The  men  looked  at  her  together,  then  at  each 
other. 

"Why,  isn't  he  in  the  house  ?" 

"They  are  killing  him,"  she  said.  And  then, 
"What  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

Louis  put  down  his  pencil,  and  leaning  out  of  the 
window,  which  was  on  a  level  with  the  street,  he 
watched  the  scene  a  little  while  in  silence. 

"By  God!"  he  cried  at  last;  "they're  singeing  the 
old  man's  beard.  Listen  to  that." 

They  listened  and  heard  a  harrowing  sound,  neither 
cry  nor  scream,  but  the  wail  as  of  a  cat  mewing. 
Twenty  Turks  had  "Old  Pop"  in  their  midst;  they 
had  torn  his  clothes  from  his  back  and  cut  off  his 
nose.  Now  some  of  them  brought  naphtha  and  poured 
it  on  his  head,  and  instantly  he  became  a  vomit  of 
flame.*  Every  feature  of  the  wretched  man  could  be 
seen  with  horrid  distinctness,  clarified  by  the  fire. 
The  flesh  withered  up  before  their  eyes.  He  stood 
for  a  long  minute  plucking  at  his  own  flesh  with  hands 

*The  incident  here  described  is  taken  almost  unchanged  from 
the  recent  story  of  Macedonia. 


THE  BURNING  OF  RANOVICA 

of  which  but  the  bones  were  left.  Then,  all  his  cries 
ceased,  and  he  fell  forward  in  a  ghastly  heap,  while 
the  Turks  howled  derisively  and  thrust  scimitars  into 
the  fire.  They  had  burned  many  a  priest  these  latter 
days,  but  this  fellow  was  famous,  and  had  fought 
many  a  good  fight  for  Ranovica.  His  death  stimulated 
a  frenzy  of  lust  and  madness,  and  they  rushed  away 
to  enter  the  houses  and  drive  out  the  women.  All  the 
make-believe  of  a  military  occupation  had  been  put 
aside  by  this  time.  Alussein  had  led  them  across  the 
mountains  to  teach  these  Christians  a  lesson,  and  they 
were  good  masters. 

Maryska  heard  the  priest's  cries,  but  she  did  not 
see  the  manner  of  his  death.  Had  it  not  happened  so 
swiftly  and  with  such  dramatic  finality,  the  men  would 
have  made  some  stir  to  save  him ;  but,  as  though  guess- 
ing their  intention,  a  group  of  soldiers  with  rifles 
across  their  arms  pressed  about  the  window,  and  made 
it  very  clear  that  they  would  shoot  upon  next  to  no 
provocation  at  all.  Alussein  Pasha  had  ridden  on  at 
this  time  to  the  lower  road  overlooking  Scutari,  and 
would  return  when  the  good  work  was  done.  He 
would  declare  that  the  villagers  had  brought  it  all  on 
themselves,  and  his  report  would  be  a  model  of  tearful 
orthodoxy.  Meanwhile,  there  were  very  few  of  the 
male  inhabitants  to  bring  anything  upon  anybody ;  the 
women  alone  remained,  and  they  were  dragged  from 
their  houses,  some  by  the  hair  of  their  heads,  some 
forced  by  thrust  of  swords,  a  few  going  without  pro- 
test, as  though  they  dreamed.  Of  the  latter  were  the 
younger  girls,  mere  children  of  fourteen  or  fifteen 
years,  who  stood  in  a  little  group  before  the  priest's 


SWORDS  RELUCTANT 


house,  and  looked  at  the  soldiers,  uncertain  —  nay, 
ignorant  —  of  their  meaning.  Maryska  saw  these 
anon;  and  Louis  also.  He  had  been  chewing  his 
cigarette  very  busily  since  the  priest  died,  and  there 
were  few  lines  upon  the  paper.  As  for  Faber,  he 
merely  stood  motionless  by  the  window.  The  scene 
held  him  spellbound  with  an  influence  he  knew  to  be 
evil. 

"What  have  they  done  with  the  priest?  Why  do 
you  not  answer  me,  Mr.  Faber?" 

She  touched  him  upon  the  arm,  and  he  looked  down 
upon  a  child's  face  from  which  a  woman's  eyes  stared 
up  at  him  wonderingly.  What  answer  could  he  make 
to  her? 

"You  must  just  run  away  and  think  nothing  about 
it,  Maryska,"  he  said  quietly.  "We  can  none  of  us 
do  anything.  I  wish  to  God  we  could." 

"Are  you  not  going  to  speak  for  the  children,  then  ?" 

"The  children!  Oh,  they're  all  right;  they  won't 
hurt  the  children." 

"That  is  not  true,"  she  said,  for  the  instinct  of  the 
woman  guided  her  surely.  "Someone  must  speak  for 
the  children.  Will  not  you,  father?" 

The  appeal  touched  Paleologue,  and  he  threw  away 
the  stump  of  his  cigarette  and  leaned  out  of  the  win- 
dow. They  heard  him  talking  rapidly  with  the  Turks 
upon  the  side-walk,  and  presently  shouting  something 
to  an  officer  before  the  guest-house  opposite.  What- 
ever he  said  moved  the  soldiers  to  derision  and  the 
children  themselves  to  hope.  They  knew  that  he  was 
their  friend,  and  their  round  eyes  watched  his  every 
gesture. 


THE  BURNING  OF  RANOVICA          123 

"What's  the  man  saying?"  Faber  asked.  Louis 
hardly  seemed  to  know. 

"I  guess  it's  a  bad  business,  boss,  a  d d  bad 

business." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say " 

"I  do  every  word  of  it." 

"We  must  see  this  thing  through,  Paleologue.  I'm 
going  out." 

"You  can't  go  out.  What's  the  good  of  doing 
stunts?  They'll  shoot,  sure." 

He  tried  to  hold  back  the  impetuous  man,  appealing 
and  swearing  in  a  breath.  From  below,  the  children 
watched  the  scene  with  a  look  of  bewilderment  and 
despair.  The  unknown  strangers  were  quarrelling, 
then!  What  hope  of  mercy  had  they  if  this  went 
on?  This  must  have  been  in  their  minds  when 
Maryska,  climbing  nimbly  as  a  cat,  slipped  by  her 
father  and  leaped  down  among  the  Turks.  She  was 
kissing  and  hugging  some  of  the  children  and  telling 
them  in  a  tongue  they  understood  that  all  would  be 
well  with  them ;  doing  this,  and  defying  the  snarling 
troopers  before  a  man  could  have  counted  ten.  Then 
the  men  at  the  window  lost  sight  of  her,  the  throng 
closing  about  her  as  water  filling  the  vortex  of  a  fall- 
ing stone. 

"Good  God,  man,  aren't  you  going  now?" 

Paleologue  licked  his  lips,  a  little  astonished,  per- 
haps, not  to  find  a  cigarette  between  them.  He  caught 
up  a  great  planter's  hat  and  clapped  it  on  the  side  of 
his  head ;  then,  without  a  word,  he  clambered  over  the 
casement  and  pushed  his  way  among  the  soldiers.  Of 
course,  Faber  was  upon  his  heels,  treading  so  close  on 


SWORDS  RELUCTANT 


his  tracks  that  they  stumbled  into  the  press  together 
and  were  instantly  swallowed  up  by  it.  Instructed  to 
deal  patiently  with  the  strangers,  none  of  the  sentries 
fired  upon  them,  but  all  swarmed  about  them  and 
tried  to  pull  them  back.  The  village  itself  had  by  this 
time  become  a  Golgotha,  from  whose  wretched  houses 
came  the  groans  of  butchered  men  and  the  screams  of 
women  in  an  agony  of  fear  and  shame.  Their  ter- 
rible cries  were  echoed  up  and  down  the  streets  from 
many  a  group  which  stooped  about  an  infamy;  while 
at  the  far  end  near  the  church,  flames  spurted  from  an 
isolated  house,  and  the  wood  burned  with  a  detonation 
heard  closely  upon  the  still  air.  The  outposts  of  the 
legions  of  hell  had  begun  their  work;  they  would  do 
it  thoroughly  enough  before  their  chief  returned  to  call 
them  off. 

"Where's  my  daughter  ?  What  have  you  done  with 
her?"  Paleologue's  voice  rose  to  a  shrill  pitch  as  he 
pushed  and  fought  his  way  into  the  crowd  and  was 
thrust  forward  and  still  forward  by  the  wiry  American 
at  his  heels.  Faber  had  never  imagined  such  a  scene 
as  this,  nor  could  he  have  believed  it  possible.  The 
heat  and  clamour  of  the  street,  the  sweat  of  the  fight- 
ing men  ;  here  and  there  a  girl  caught  in  a  man's  arms 
and  held  firmly  as  a  wild  beast  holds  its  prey  ;  smoke 
of  the  burning  house  coming  down  upon  the  wind  — 
the  crazy  organ  still  rolling  out  its  dirge-like  waltzes. 
All  this  and  the  fierce  oaths  of  the  maladroitly  butch- 
ered —  the  horrid,  gashed  corpses  in  the  gutters  —  the 
rearing,  terrified  horses  of  Alussein's  lieutenants  ;  and, 
above  it  all,  the  serene  sky  and  the  desolate  mountains 
lifting  their  scarred  summits  in  savage  menace.  What 


125 


an  inferno,  what  a  hell  of  human  creation!  And  into 
this  the  girl  Maryska  had  plunged,  headlong  as  a  bold 
swimmer  into  a  raging  sea  which  has  engulfed  a  child. 
He  found  himself  imitating  Paleologue  by  and  by, 
and  calling  her  name  aloud.  The  attempts  of  the 
sentries  to  get  the  pair  of  them  back  to  the  house 
were  met  by  thrust  upon  thrust;  a  good  square  push 
from  the  shoulder  here  and  a  dive  into  an  opening 
there.  Gradually  they  won  their  way  up  the  street, 
but  could  not  find  her;  and  upon  that  a  sense  of  des- 
peration drove  them  to  some  imprudence,  and  they 
began  to  deal  in  blows.  Such  madness  might  have 
brought  a  swift  penalty  but  for  the  fire  which  the 
priest's  death  had  kindled.  The  God  of  Ranovica, 
designing  that  these  people  should  perish  to  bear 
witness  to  their  faith,  willed  also  that  Ranovica  should 
fall  with  them,  and  that  the  priest  should  be  the  in- 
strument. From  his  body  the  flames  had  run  to  the' 
crazy  house ;  from  the  house  to  the  church,  and  thence 
to  the  narrow  street,  which  instantly  became  aglow. 
Faber  found  himself  pressing  forward  amid  showers 
of  sparks,  and  still  crying  "Maryska — Maryska!"  as 
though  the  child's  voice  could  be  heard  amid  the  din. 
Turks  pressed  about  him  shielding  their  faces  with 
sun-browned  arms  and  cursing  the  "spawn  of  dogs" 
by  which  the  visitation  had  come  upon  them.  He 
was  driven  in  and  out  of  courtyards,  tossed  hither  and 
thither  by  the  human  wave,  whose  crest  was  the 
whirling  scimitars  of  the  destroyers.  In  the  end  he 
found  himself  out  upon  the  hillside,  flaming  Ravonica 
below  him,  and  the  still  air  alive  with  the  cries  of  its 
people.  Faleologue  had  disappeared ;  there  was  no 


126  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

trace  of  Maryska,  and  he  himself  had  hardly  a  rag 
upon  his  back. 

He  sat  down  upon  a  great  boulder,  and  presently 
heard  a  familiar  voice.  It  was  that  of  his  valet, 
Frank. 

"Mr.  Faber,  is  that  you,  sir?" 

"I  guess  it  is,  Frank." 

"Thank  God  for  that,  sir!  Our  baggage  is  done 
for,  sure  and  certain.  The  house  is  afire  from  top  to 
bottom,  sir." 

"Never  mind  the  baggage,  Frank.  Have  you  seen 
Mr.  Paleologue?" 

"He  was  down  among  the  soldiers  five  minutes 
ago,  sir." 

"And  the  young  lady?" 

Frank  could  not  answer. 

"She  went  away  with  some  of  the  young  women — 
I  think  toward  the  church,  sir." 

"Was  that  long  ago?" 

"About  five  minutes  before  they  fired  it;  I'm  sure  it 
wasn't  more." 

"Well,  look  at  the  church  now,  anyway.  This  is 
an  awful  business,  Frank." 

"I  suppose  in  their  way  it's  what  they  call  war,  sir. 
But  it's  a  terrible  business." 

"Ah!"  said  Faber.  "I  suppose  it  would  be.  You 
don't  happen  to  have  a  cigar  on  you,  Frank?" 

"I've  got  a  few  cigarettes,  sir." 

"Then  pass  one  up.  We'll  go  and  look  for  Mr. 
Paleologue  presently;  I  guess  he's  taken  the  lower 
road.  We  should  find  both  of  them  there." 

"I  hope  we  shall  do  so,  sir." 


THE  BURNING  OF  RANOVICA          127 

He  passed  the  cigarettes  and  the  matches,  and  his 
master  lighted  one  and  sat  and  smoked  in  silence.  It 
may  be  that  he  asked  himself  what  he,  John  Faber, 
was  doing  out  there  upon  this  bleak  hillside  when  he 
might  have  been  on  board  his  yacht  in  the  harbour  of 
Antivari.  Such  reflections  had  occurred  to  him  on 
several  occasions  when  some  absurd  venture  had 
brought  him  very  near  to  that  haven  where  millions 
are  the  poorest  credentials;  but  they  were  unduly 
ironical  to-day,  and  not  a  little  persistent.  Why  had 
he  come  to  Ranovica?  Because  that  little  wide-eyed 
woman,  who  made  such  a  curious  appeal  to  him,  had 
insisted  upon  his  coming.  It  was  very  true,  and  he 
would  not  fence  with  it.  He  might  lose  his  life  for 
Maryska  even  yet;  and  that  would  be  a  grotesque 
finale  enough.  Meanwhile,  a  certain  doubt  about  her 
remained  and  troubled  him  with  a  graver  thought. 
Why  had  he  not  discovered  her  in  the  village?  No 
man  could  venture  into  that  inferno  now,  for  the  whole 
place  was  just  a  flame  upon  the  hillside;  but  he  had 
been  up  and  down  the  street  with  Paleologue,  and 
they  had  seen  nothing  of  her.  He  thought  it  curious 
if  nothing  more.  They  should  have  discovered  her 
immediately  when  the  fire  broke  out. 

Alussein  Pasha  rode  up  presently  and  his  little  staff 
with  him.  He  had  treated  Faber  with  some  defer- 
ence from  the  beginning,  and  now  that  the  fury  of  the 
sack  was  over  he  became  almost  grotesquely  polite, 
gabbling  in  appalling  German  and  expressing  as  well 
as  he  could  his  regret  for  the  state  in  which  he  dis- 
covered the  stranger.  In  return,  Faber  asked  him  of 
his  friend — gesture  serving  where  names  failed — and 


128  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

the  matter  being  understood,  the  Pasha  told  off  a 
lieutenant  and  two  men  who  invited  the  "infidel"  to 
follow  them.  Ranovica  had  burned  itself  to  a  cinder 
by  this  time,  and  if  it  was  not  possible  to  pass  down 
the  narrow  street,  at  least  the  precincts  of  the  houses 
might  be  searched.  Faber  trudged  after  the  men  and 
came  to  the  ruined  church,  now  but  a  shell  and  a  few 
blackened  beams.  A  young  Turkish  soldier  walked 
to  and  fro  here ;  but  the  gulley  of  the  road  before  the 
church  was  blocked  by  corpses,  and  near  by  them  lay 
the  figure  of  Louis  de  Paleologue.  He  had  been  shot 
through  the  head  just  as  he  reached  the  porch,  and  he 
lay  face  downwards,  an  unlighted  cigarette  between 
his  lips  and  his  kindly  eyes  wide  open. 

Faber  knelt  and  turned  the  dead  man  over.  He 
felt  his  pulse,  and  even  laid  his  head  upon  his  chest 
to  listen  for  the  beating  of  his  heart.  There  had  been 
horrors  enough  in  Ranovica  this  day;  but  they  had 
to  do  with  a  strange  and  savage  people,  of  whom  he 
knew  nothing.  He  remembered  that  this  man  had 
taken  his  mother  to  America  when  she  had  no  other 
friend  in  the  world.  Had  he  not  come  to  Europe  to 
reward  him  for  what  he  had  done  as  few  have  been 
rewarded,  whatever  the  service?  And  this  was  the 
end  of  it — this  prone  figure,  still  and  fearful — this,  and 
the  Turks  who  looked  down  upon  the  scene  with  Ori- 
ental indifference — this,  and  the  sentry  who  leered 
behind  their  backs  and  made  no  attempt  to  hide  his 
satisfaction.  Faber  caught  the  fellow  grinning,  and 
recognized  him  for  one  of  the  men  who  had  turned 
on  him  earlier  in  the  day  when  Paleologue  floored  the 
officer.  The  rifle  in  his  hand  had  come  from  the 


129 


arsenal  at  Charleston.  Surely  destiny  spoke  loudly 
enough  here. 

He  borrowed  a  burned  and  tattered  cloak  from  one 
of  the  dead  in  the  gutter,  and  covered  his  friend's  face 
reverently.  Where  to  go,  what  to  do  next,  he  knew 
not;  nor  in  what  manner  he  should  seek  Maryska. 
The  truth  had  gripped  him  with  fingers  of  iron. 

This  was  war — and  of  war  was  he  not  the  disciple? 

Ill 

The  Turks  left  the  village  about  three  in  the  after- 
noon. It  was  understood  that  they  had  other  work  of 
the  kind,  but  more  to  the  northward,  and  removed 
from  the  observant  eye  of  their  neighbours,  the  Mon- 
tenegrins, who  would  surely  avenge  this  day.  Before 
they  left,  they  were  able  to  restore  to  Faber  the  mules 
which  had  brought  his  party  to  Ranovica.  The  beasts 
had  been  taken  up  the  hillside  during  the  conflagration, 
and  would  have  been  led  much  further  afield  but  for 
the  Pasha's  desire  to  curry  favour  with  the  American. 
He  knew  that  this  was  the  man  who  made  the  rifles 
with  which  the  infidel  dogs  must  be  destroyed ;  urgent 
messages  from  Constantinople  had  warned  him  to 
show  deference  to  so  useful  an  ally,  and  he  obeyed  his 
instructions  with  a  display  of  manners  quite  pleasing. 
It  was  otherwise  when  the  dead  artist  and  his  daughter 
were  mentioned.  Constantinople  had  said  nothing 
about  them,  and  it  really  seemed  to  Faber  that  the 
flat-faced,  good-humoured  Alussein  could  be  a  genius 
of  understanding  or  the  dullest  blockhead  at  his 
pleasure. 


130 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

So  away  the  Turk  went,  just  when  the  sun  was 
beginning  to  dip  down  over  the  Adriatic  and  all  the 
wilderness  to  glow  beneath  the  shimmer  of  its  deepen- 
ing rays.  A  hillside,  normally  grey  and  cold,  shone 
rose-pink  and  purple  in  the  waxing  splendour  of  the 
hour.  The  burned  village  became  but  the  blacker 
for  the  gift,  a  charred  log  lying  in  a  cup  of  the  bur- 
nished rocks.  Out  of  it,  when  every  ruin  had  been 
twice  searched,  every  heap  of  ashes  turned  for  possible 
plunder,  out  of  it  went  the  baggy  breeches  and  the 
little  white  horses  and  the  fierce  and  bristling  men,  as 
cool  and  laconic  as  though  this  were  but  an  episode 
and  to-morrow  would  furnish  another.  Romancers' 
tales  of  troops  drunk  with  lust  and  slaughter  could  not 
be  told  of  them.  All  that  passed,  women's  fearful 
struggles  to  escape  their  embraces,  the  shrieks  of  men 
whose  hearts  were  being  torn  out,  the  gasps  of  the 
dying  and  the  livid  faces  of  the  dead — all  this  was 
already  forgotten,  and  would  hardly  be  remembered 
when  a  week  had  gone.  Had  not  the  Prophet  com- 
manded them  so  to  do,  and  was  not  he  a  discerning 
person  withal? 

Faber  had  taken  a  meal  with  Alussein  upon  the  hill- 
side about  midday,  and  after  that  he  had  patrolled  the 
village  with  Frank  at  his  side,  waiting  and  hoping  for 
the  coming  of  Maryska.  To  return  to  Ragusa  with- 
out her  would  have  been  an  infamy  he  could  not  con- 
template ;  and  yet  he  feared  to  meet  her  or  to  tell  her 
the  truth  which  must  be  told.  When  at  last  he  did 
discover  her,  some  hours  had  passed,  and  it  was  quite 
dark.  The  hillside  with  its  savage  boulders  had  given 
up  the  most  part  of  the  refugees  then,  and  they  had 


THE  BURNING  OF  RANOVICA          131 

come  down  to  the  village  to  wander  amid  the  ruins 
of  their  poor  homes  and  to  fill  the  street  with  their 
wailing.  It  was  at  this  time  also  that  another  band 
of  Albanians  came  up  the  valley  to  their  comrades' 
rescue;  alas,  so  many  hours  too  late,  but  yet  in  time 
to  help  the  desperate  refugees  and  to  bring  them  food 
and  succour.  Fires  were  now  lighted  by  the  valley 
road,  and  the  women  and  children  grouped  about  them. 
The  most  timid  crept  down  from  the  rocks  above; 
girls  dishevelled  and  weeping,  men  who  had  fled  with 
gashed  limbs  to  the  harbourage  of  caves,  children 
whose  parents  lay  dead  beneath  the  ashes — all  came 
at  the  summons  of  the  shrill  goat's  horn.  Meanwhile, 
none  thought  of  burying  the  dead — none  except  Faber, 
who  would  not  leave  the  body  of  Louis  de  Paleologue 
where  it  was,  and  returned  with  two  lusty  Albanians 
at  his  heels  to  do  what  could  be  done  in  the  matter. 

It  was  then  that  he  found  Maryska. 

One  of  the  Albanians  carried  a  lantern,  and  the  rays 
of  it  discovered  her,  kneeling  against  the  broken  rail- 
ings of  the  church  porch,  but  with  face  averted  from 
the  dead.  She  did  not  appear  to  have  been  weeping. 
Her  eyes  were  big  and  round ;  her  head  bare,  her  hair 
dishevelled.  What  she  had  suffered  at  the  soldiers' 
hands  might  not  be  imagined;  but  its  memories  had 
been  obliterated  by  this  sudden  realization  of  the 
greater  loss.  All  that  humanity  had  been  to  her  lay 
still  and  ghastly  in  that  fearsome  gutter.  Father, 
brother,  friend — he  who  had  gone  hand  in  hand  with 
her  through  the  wild  wilderness  of  the  world,  he  would 
lead  her  no  more.  The  night  had  dropped  a  black 
curtain  between  her  and  the  eternal  hope  of  youth. 


132  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

Womanhood  had  revealed  itself,  its  secrets  thrust  upon 
her  by  the  bloody  hands  of  monsters;  but  the  drugged 
soul  of  the  child  could  find  no  place  in  her  mind  for 
that.  He  was  dead.  Why,  then,  did  she  live? 

She  shrank  from  the  light,  but  did  not  cover  her 
eyes.  Discerning  Faber,  she  leaped  toward  him  as  an 
animal  unchained,  and  bared  her  breast  with  frenzied 
fingers.  "Shoot  me,  stranger — shoot  me  through  the 
heart!"  she  cried.  He  caught  her  outstretched  hand, 
and  she  fell  almost  lifeless  into  his  arms.  Oblivion,  the 
greater  mercy,  saved  her  reason  in  the  critical  hour. 
She  was  in  a  delirium  when  they  made  a  rude  palan- 
quin and  carried  her  down  to  Antivari.  She  awoke 
therefrom  upon  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  after 
in  a  cabin  upon  Faber's  yacht;  and  then,  for  the  first 
time,  they  believed  that  she  would  live. 


CHAPTER  V 


A   STRANGE   VOYAGE 


The  Wanderer,  carrying  Sir  Jules  Achon  and  his 
party,  lay  in  Ragusa  harbour  when  the  fugitives  came 
down  from  the  hills.  The  two  boats  were  moored  al- 
most side  by  side  in  the  offing,  and  hardly  had  Faber 
set  foot  aboard  when  he  sent  a  message  to  Gabrielle, 
begging  her  help  in  an  emergency.  Half  an  hour  later 
she  met  him  at  the  head  of  the  gangway  ladder,  and 
he  led  her  at  once  into  the  gorgeous  saloon  of  the 
Savannah,  as  his  own  boat  was  named. 

"Is  this  the  emergency?"  she  asked  laughingly,  as 
she  pointed  to  the  wonderful  decoration  of  the  cabin. 
He  told  her  as  bluntly  that  it  was  not. 

"I've  got  a  patient  on  board,"  he  said.  "Will  you 
help  me?" 

"You  know  that  I  will — very  gladly.  Is  he  here 
now?" 

"It's  not  he — it's  she.  That's  why  I  sent  for  one 
of  her  own  sex.  God  help  a  foreign  woman  in  this 
part  of  the  world !  This  is  a  mere  baby.  She  calls  me 
an  'old,  old  man.'  So  I  guess  she's  interesting." 

He  betrayed  no  emotion  of  any  kind.  His  anxiety 
concerning  the  child,  his  perception  of  the  irony  of  fate 
directing  his  footsteps  into  such  strange  paths,  the 

133 


134  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

baser  curiosity  which  had  sent  him  into  the  hills,  were 
masked  successfully  by  that  clear-cut  face.  Gabrielle 
imagined  that  his  act  was  an  impulse  of  charity,  and 
she  was  pleased  that  he  had  made  her  the  instrument 
of  it. 

"Where  is  this  precious  derelict,  and  what  has  hap- 
pened to  her  ?" 

"She's  in  the  pink  saloon.  Don't  speak  of  it  lightly. 
She's  lost  her  father,  and  has  not  a  friend  in  the 
world.  I  knew  she  would  find  her  way  to  your  heart. 
Shall  we  go  and  see  her?  The  doctor's  there  now,  I 
guess,  We'll  have  to  get  our  orders." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  cabin,  and  they  went  in.  It 
was  a  beautiful  room,  and  his  servants  already  had 
smothered  it  in  flowers.  A  young  Austrian  doctor 
from  Ragusa  was  trying  to  give  the  head  stewardess 
his  instructions,  and  failing  as  dismally.  He  turned 
with  relief  to  Gabrielle,  whose  German  was  pretty  if 
not  eloquent.  The  cabin  was  to  be  kept  as  quiet  as 
possible;  the  patient  must  be  watched  zealously  in 
case  of  sudden  collapse.  He  understood  that  this  was 
a  case  of  shock,  and  could  no  nothing  until  conscious- 
ness returned.  His  suggestion  that  a  nurse  should  be 
fetched  from  one  of  the  military  hospitals  was  refused 
almost  ungraciously  by  the  English  girl  he  so  plainly 
admired.  Gabrielle  would  play  the  part  herself.  She 
had  already  removed  her  furs,  and  was  busy  about 
the  cabin  where  artistic  fingers  could  do  so  much.  It 
was  quite  needless  for  the  doctor  to  repeat  his  instruc- 
tions as  he  was  prepared  to;  she  dismissed  both  him 
and  her  host  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  which  said  "be- 
gone" as  no  tongue  could  have  uttered  the  word. 


A  STRANGE  VOYAGE  135 

It  was  nine  o'clock  at  night  before  Faber  saw  her 
again.  His  dinghy  had  gone  across  to  the  Wanderer 
with  a  message  explaining  the  circumstances,  but  he 
himself  remained  on  deck,  waiting  for  news  that  might 
be  a  new  echo  of  this  pitiful  tragedy.  But  a  few  days 
ago  he  had  entered  that  beautiful  place  and  discovered 
the  little  nomad  whose  life  now  hung  upon  a  thread. 
He  had  wished  to  bring  happiness  to  her  father  and 
herself,  but  had  failed  beyond  repair.  Money  did  not 
help  him  in  the  wilds  of  Albania,  nor  could  money  buy 
one  jot  or  tittle  of  content  for  the  child  of  the  man  he 
had  discovered  in  the  cavern.  Had  not  he  himself 
paid  for  the  journey  to  Ranovica — a  whim  which  cost 
the  life  of  a  man  to  whom  he  owed  his  very  existence? 
And  now  the  child  was  his  legacy.  He  stood  at  the 
taffrail  wondering  what  unnameable  secret  she  had 
carried  down  from  the  hills. 

Perhaps  he  remembered  the  multitude  of  women 
who  had  so  suffered  since  God  Almighty  created  a 
battlefield;  but  understanding  had  never  come  in  that 
way  hitherto.  Little  Maryska — he  would  have  given 
a  good  deal  of  his  lavish  fortune  to  have  saved  her 
life  that  night.  His  heart  bounded  when  Gabrielle 
came  out  of  the  cabin  at  last  to  bring  him  better  news 
of  the  invalid. 

"She  is  conscious  and  would  see  you.  I  think  you 
had  better  go  down." 

"Do  you  approve  my  going?" 

She  looked  at  him  in  a  curious  way. 

"She  has  asked  for  you,  Mr.  Faber." 

"Why,  then,  I'll  go  right  now.  Have  you  eaten 
that  dinner  yet?" 


136  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"As  much  as  I  want.  I  must  go  now  and  get  my 
things  from  the  yacht." 

"But  you'll  come  back,  sure?" 

"I  think  I  must — there's  no  one  else." 

"That's  right  down  fine  of  you.  I  knew  you'd  do 
it  when  you  understood." 

She  looked  him  full  in  the  face  and  smiled. 

"There  are  some  things  no  woman  can  misunder- 
stand. I  shall  not  be  very  long.  Please  let  her  talk 
as  little  as  possible." 

"Ah!"  he  said,  fallen  to  a  grave  manner.  "I  fear 
this  is  a  bad  business  altogether." 

She  did  not  ask  him  why,  nor  had  she  any  clue  to 
his  meaning.  The  whole  affair  was  a  mystery  which 
could  have  but  a  human  solution.  She  made  light 
of  the  romantic  story  concerning  Louis  de  Paleologue, 
and  believed,  with  a  feminine  instinct  for  the  obvious, 
that  vulgar  flirtation  had  been  the  impulse  of  Faber's 
journey.  All  this  hurt  her  pride,  but  could  not  be 
the  just  subject  of  complaint.  Tenaciously  she  clung 
to  the  idea  that  she  might  yet  use  this  master  intellect 
for  the  schemes  which  had  lifted  her  father  and  her- 
self from  the  slough  of  monotony  to  a  little  place  in 
the  story  of  the  world.  This  very  accident,  this  revela- 
tion of  a  man's  weakness,  might  be  a  precious  oppor- 
tunity, however  deeply  her  vanity  suffered.  If  she 
succeeded,  her  triumph  must  be  the  greater;  if  she 

failed But  failure  was  a  word  which  Gabrielle 

Silvester  refused  to  add  to  her  vocabulary. 

So  she  went  over  to  the  Wanderer  to  tell  her  father 
of  the  sick  girl,  and  to  add,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "I 
believe  there's  a  good  deal  in  it."  To  which  Silvester 


A  STRANGE  VOYAGE 137 

replied  that  he  was  sorry  to  hear  it,  "for,"  said  he, 
"there  is  no  man  alive  who  could  do  so  great  a  work 
if  he  would  come  over  to  us." 


II 

Faber  went  straight  down  to  Maryska's  cabin  and 
found  her  crouching  upon  a  pillow.  The  long,  jet 
black  hair  had  been  taken  down,  and  lay  in  a  tangled 
skein  about  her;  she  was  very  pale,  and  her  eyes 
glowed  as  with  a  fever.  Evidently  she  had  been  lis- 
tening for  his  footsteps,  for  she  turned  instantly  when 
he  came  in  and  fixed  her  eyes  upon  him. 

"It's  Mr.  Faber,"  she  said,  but  without  satisfaction. 

He  took  a  chair  and  drew  it  to  her  bedside. 

"Well,  Maryska,  are  you  feeling  better,  my  dear?" 

She  paid  not  the  slightest  heed  to  the  question. 
Sitting  up  in  bed,  she  closed  her  gown  about  her  chest 
and  breathed  a  little  heavily.  Then  she  said,  without 
warning : 

"Where  is  my  father?" 

He  bent  his  head,  fearing  to  meet  her  gaze. 

"My  dear  little  girl,  you'll  remember  all  about  that 
presently." 

There  was  a  long  pause  upon  this. 

"Yes,"  she  said  at  last,  and  still  apparently  un- 
moved; "I  do  remember.  Why  did  you  let  him  die, 
Mr.  Faber?" 

"I,  Maryska?  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  If 
he  had  taken  my  advice  he  would  not  have  left  the 
Pasha's  side.  I  was  quite  a  long  way  off  when  it 
happened." 


138  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

She  insisted,  looking  at  him  with  pathetic  eyes. 

"If  you  had  not  come  to  Ragusa,  he  would  not 
have  left  me.  I  am  sorry  you  came.  Shall  I  be  kept 
here  long?" 

"Do  you  mean  in  this  ship?" 

"Yes,  of  course.     Is  it  your  ship,  then?" 

"It's  my  ship — at  least,  I've  hired  it.  Don't  you 
like  it,  my  dear  ?" 

She  looked  round  about  her  critically. 

"You  are  not  very  rich,"  she  said  at  last.  "We 
came  from  America  in  a  much  larger  ship  than  this. 
He  was  with  me  then." 

Her  eyes  rilled  suddenly  with  tears,  and  she  saw 
no  longer  either  the  cabin  or  the  man.  Faber  covered 
the  outstretched  hand,  and  stroked  it  softly. 

"My  poor  little  girl !  You  must  make  your  home 
with  me  now." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"You  are  not  rich;  it  would  be  different  with  you," 
she  said;  and  then,  in  just  the  childish  tone  she  had 
used  at  the  Cantina,  she  exclaimed,  "I  don't  believe 
you  have  much  money." 

He  laughed,  and  reassured  her. 

"I've  a  great  deal  more  than  you  or  I  will  ever 
want,  Maryska." 

It  was  evident  that  the  wolf-child  was  suspicious. 
The  gipsy  instincts  were  awake. 

"Will  you  give  me  some  money  if  I  want  any?" 

"I'll  give  you  as  much  as  you  ask  me  for." 

"Five  crowns,  say — would  you  give  me  five 
crowns  ?" 

"Of  course  I  would." 


A  STRANGE  VOYAGE  139 

"Here  and  now?"  and  she  held  out  her  hand. 

He  was  nonplussed  for  the  moment,  but  he  took  a 
bank-note  from  his  pocket,  and  thrust  it  into  her  tiny 
fist. 

"There,  I  guess  there  are  fifty  crowns  and  more 
there,  Maryska.  You  shall  have  another  when  you 
want  it." 

The  hand  closed  upon  the  bank-note  like  a  vise. 
None  the  less,  her  thoughts  were  not  wholly  of  the 
money. 

"If  my  father  had  been  here  he  would  have  been 
very  glad  of  this.  He  will  never  know  now." 

"I  don't  believe  that.  He'll  know  that  you've  be- 
come my  little  daughter,  Maryska.  He'll  understand 
that  all  right.  My  home's  yours  now.  I  want  you 
to  understand  that  right  here." 

She  shook  her  head,  the  long  hair  smoothed  back 
from  her  forehead. 

"He  will  never  know.  I  cannot  speak  to  him.  I 
have  tried  so  hard  and  he  does  not  hear  me." 

"Believe  no  such  thing,  my  dear.  He  hears  every 
word  you  say.  He  knows  that  you  will  be  happy 
with  me." 

She  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"With  you,  Mr.  Faber?  Why  should  I  stay  with 
you?" 

"Because  I  mean  to  make  a  home  for  you." 

"Will  you  make  it  upon  this  ship?" 

"Why,  you  couldn't  live  always  upon  a  ship." 

She  became  practical. 

"I  would  sooner  live  in  Ragusa;  but  not  in  the 
Cantina,  because  he  would  not  be  there  with  us.  It 


140  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

is  very  cheap,  and  if  you  had  the  money  we  could  live 
very  well  upon  a  crown  a  day  and  the  wine.  I  have 
had  no  wine  since  I  came  away;  the  lady  would  not 
give  me  any.  If  you  have  any  money  left  and  would 

send  for  some  wine "  She  looked  up  beseechingly, 

with  a  look  which  reminded  him  of  the  little  wild  wolf 
who  had  run  to  the  wine-shop  the  night  he  discovered 
her  father.  He  hardly  knew  how  to  satisfy  her. 

"I'll  send  down  anything  the  doctor  orders  for  you. 
If  he  says  wine " 

"Oh !"  she  cried,  flown  into  a  passion  in  an  instant. 
"I  could  kill  you — I  could  kill  you  for  that!"  And 
without  another  word  she  turned  her  face  to  the  wall 
and  still  clutching  her  money  tenaciously,  she  made 
it  plain  that  she  had  done  with  him. 

"All  right,  Maryska,"  he  said,  rising,  "you  shall 
have  the  wine  all  right.  I  don't  care  that  for  the 
doctors;  I'll  see  to  it  myself." 

She  did  not  answer  him,  and  lay  so  still  that  she 
might  have  been  dead. 

Ill 

Gabrielle  returned  immediately  after  the  interview 
was  terminated,  and  with  her  Harry  Lassett,  who  by 
no  means  liked  the  circumstances  of  her  visit,  and  had 
come  to  verify  them.  She  went  at  once  to  Mary  ska's 
cabin,  but  Lassett  remained  on  deck  to  sample  the 
green  cigars,  and  incidentally  to  cross-question  their 
owner.  He  talked  upon  a  number  of  subjects  with  the 
assurance  of  twenty-three  years  and  the  experience  of 
ten. 


A  STRANGE  VOYAGE  141 

"I've  heard  a  lot  of  things  about  you  from  Gabrielle. 
Of  course,  you  know  I'm  engaged  to  her." 

Faber  finished  the  operation  of  striking  a  match 
and  then  lighted  his  cigar. 

"Why,  is  that  so?  My  congratulations.  When  is 
it  to  be?" 

"Oh,  I  dunno;  marriage  is  a  considerable  proposi- 
tion. Besides,  I'm  going  out  to  Australia  next  winter 
— cricket,  you  know." 

"Ah !  you  play  ball,  then  ?    Is  there  much  to  it  ?" 

Harry  grinned. 

"Nothing.  I'm  an  amateur,  you  know — that  is, 
if  you  know  anything  about  the  game  at  all.  We  can't 
take  any  money  for  our  services,  so  we  have  to  charge 
expenses.  And  jolly  well  we're  worth  it — some  of  us," 
he  added  with  conviction. 

Faber  nodded,  as  though  he  understood  perfectly. 

"I  guess  you  deliver  the  goods.  There's  something 
of  that  sort  in  my  country,  only  we  don't  call  'em 
amateurs.  Anyway,  the  name  doesn't  hurt.  You'll 
be  married  when  you  come  back,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Ah!  there  you  cherchez  la  femme.  Gabrielle  isn't 
struck  with  marriage — not  very  much.  She's  full  of 
this  tomfool  business  about  peace  on  earth  and  good- 
will toward  Wilhelm.  It  makes  me  sick  to  listen  to  it. 
The  yacht  loaded  up  with  cranks,  and  every  one  of 
them  trying  to  get  something  out  of  Sir  Jules.  It's 
almost  as  good  a  game  as  Throgmorton  Street,  if  you 
can  find  the  mugs,  chiefly  those  with  handles.  I  tell 
you,  I'm  just  fed  up  with  it." 

"You  don't  get  thin  on  it,  sure.  How  long-  docs 
Sir  Jules  propose  to  stop  here?  Has  he  said  that?" 


142 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"He'll  stop  on  the  off  chance  of  another  interview 
with  the  Emperor  on  his  return  from  Corfu." 

"The  first  one  wasn't  satisfactory,  then?" 

"Oh,  lots  of  pats  on  the  back  and  that  sort  of  thing 
— plenty  of  butter,  but  not  much  bread.  By  the  way, 
do  you  think  there's  anything  in  the  business,  or  is 
it  just  fancy?" 

"I  think  there's  a  great  deal.  Sir  Jules  Achon  is 
about  the  deepest  thinker  in  this  line  I've  yet  struck. 
But  he  wants  a  man  with  him — he  wants  a  hustler. 
Europe  listens  when  you  beat  the  drum,  but  it's  got 
to  be  a  mighty  big  drum  nowadays.  He's  merely  play- 
ing with  fiddle-sticks." 

"That's  because  his  drummer  is  on  the  sick  list. 
I  hear  he's  a  regular  roarer — Rupert  Trevelle,  who 
hustled  Balfour  into  the  Blue  Ensign  Club.  He  was 
to  have  been  here,  but  he's  down  with  neuritis  or 
something.  They  say  that's  why  we're  all  drifting 
about  the  Adriatic  doing  nothing  but  patting  each 
other's  back.  It  will  be  different  when  Trevelle  gets 
going." 

"Then  set  him  going  right  quick.  Does  Miss  Sil- 
vester take  to  it  kindly?  Is  she  dead  earnest?" 

"That's  just  what  I  want  to  know.  I'll  tell  you 
what,  though — she  won't  be  when  she's  married  to  me. 

No  peace  at  any  price  in  my  house,  I'm  d d  if 

there  is." 

"Don't  believe  in  it,  eh?" 

"Does  any  good  Britisher  really  believe  in  it?  Wars 
made  us  what  we  are.  Would  Nelson  have  gone  to  a  law 
court  ?  And  what  price  would  Drake  receive  in  a  county 
court  action  for  singeing  the  Spanish  King's  beard  ?  I 


A  STRANGE  VOYAGE  143 

tell  you  it's  all  d d  nonsense,  and  some  of  'em  must 

know  it  to  be  so.  When  I  am  married  to  Gabrielle 

But  here  she  comes,  my  boy,  so  mum's  the  word. 
There's  time  enough  for  arguments — eh,  what?" 

Faber  smiled  and  stood  up  to  get  another  chair. 
Gabrielle  was  very  serious,  and  looked  gracious  in  her 
perplexity.  She  had  a  strange  tale  to  tell  of  her 
patient,  and  recited  it  in  a  kind  of  astonished  despair 
which  amused  her  host  very  much. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  exclaimed,  "the  child  drinks 
wine  like  an  alderman.  Whatever  am  I  to  do?" 

"What?"  cried  Harry.  "You're  rotting,  Gabrielle, 
you're  not  serious." 

"It's  true,  every  word  of  it.  She  says  that  she  is 
doing  it  by  your  orders,  Mr.  Faber.  Is  it  really  so?"' 

"How  much  has  she  taken?  I  sent  a  bottle  down. 
It's  only  the  light  stuff  they  drink  hereabouts.  You 
can  hardly  call  it  wine." 

"She  has  drunk  the  whole  bottle.  I  was  never 
more  astonished  in  my  life." 

"We  shall  have  to  humour  her  a  bit.  Of  course, 
it  must  be  stopped.  And  that  reminds  me — I  want  a 
home  for  her  in  England.  Will  you  and  your  father 
give  her  one?" 

"She'll  do  for  the  'horrid'  example  at  youf  tem- 
perance meetings,  Gabrielle.  Better  take  hey." 

"I  think,"  said  Gabrielle,  "you  had  better  see  my 
father.  You  know  that  he  is  undecided  about  this  call 
to  Yonkers." 

"He  won't  be  undecided  about  it  when  I've  had 
my  say.  Is  the  patient  all  right  now?  Do  you  think 
well  of  her?" 


144 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"I  think  she  is  terribly  distressed,  and  is  hiding  it 
from  all  of  us." 

"A  brave  little  girl !  I  guessed  as  much.  We  must 
get  her  away  from  this  place  as  soon  as  possible. 
When  does  Sir  Jules  propose  to  sail  ?" 

"Not  until  the  Emperor  leaves  Corfu.  He  said  so 
at  lunch." 

"He'll  weigh  before  then;  the  Emperor  doesn't 
mean  to  see  him  a  second  time.  Anyway,  you  won't 
leave  her,  Miss  Silvester,  I  go  pat  on  that." 

She  averted  her  eyes  from  both  of  them,  and  looked 
away  to  the  other  yacht. 

"I  don't  think  I  ought  to  leave  her.  The  better 
way  will  be  for  you  to  see  my  father.  She's  sleeping 
how.  We  might  go  over  to  the  Wanderer  at  once,  if 
you  liked " 

"And  make  it  an  excuse  for  a  jolly  little  supper  on 
deck,"  said  Harry  voraciously.  He  had  done  little  but 
eat  and  sleep  since  they  left  London. 


w 

Gordon  Silvester  was  as  astonished  as  Gabrielle  by 
the  proposition  which  Faber  made  to  him,  but  he 
listened  sympathetically  none  the  less. 

"This  would  mean  a  definite  refusal  to  Yonkers," 
he  said,  and  Faber  agreed  that  it  was  so. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Silvester.  This  affair  has 
cut  pretty  deep  down  into  some  of  my  old-fashioned 
notions,  and  is  costing  me  more  than  I  care  to  tell 
any  man.  I  came  across  to  Europe  to  pay  a  debt 


A  STRANGE  VOYAGE  145 

I  owed  to  one  who  was  my  mother's  friend.  I  meant 
to  reward  him  pretty  liberally.  And  what  have  I 
succeeded  in  doing  after  all?  You  know  the  story. 
Paleologue  lies  dead  up  at  Ranovica — the  child's  on 
my  yacht  to  judge  me  for  what  I've  done.  Hence- 
forth, she  is  going  to  stand  to  me  as  my  own  daughter. 
I  shall  spare  no  expense  to  educate  and  train  her. 
She'll  have  the  best  that  money  can  buy ;  all  that  gives 
a  woman  a  chance  in  the  world.  If  you  will,  you  and 
your  daughter  shall  be  my  agents  in  this.  Live  where 
you  please,  take  the  best  house  the  agents  can  find  for 
you,  spend  all  the  money  you  can  spend  on  making 
her  what  I  would  wish  her  to  be.  You  say  the  pas- 
torate has  tired  you  out,  and  that  you  would  like  to 
devote  yourself  to  literature.  Here's  the  chance  of 
your  life  time!  Don't  tell  me  that  you  will  let  it  go 
begging." 

Silvester  knocked  out  the  ashes  of  his  pipe  with 
some  deliberation.  He  was  very  much  excited  by  the 
offer,  but  at  some  pains  to  conceal  his  surprise  at  it. 
Many  schemes  ran  through  his  head — alas!  none  of 
them  had  to  do  with  Maryska  de  Paleologue. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  "I  could  devote  myself  en- 
tirely then  to  the  I.A.L.  It  would  be  a  great  oppor- 
tunity. I  can  imagine  no  finer." 

"There  is  one  finer,  Mr.  Silvester." 

"Of  what  are  you  thinking?" 

"Of  a  woman's  soul — just  the  heart  and  the  soul  of 
a  little  waif  from  the  hills.  She's  a  finer  opportunity, 
for  she's  flesh  and  blood.  Your  geese  are  all  swans, 
Mr.  Silvester.  You'll  know  as  much  when  they  fly." 

"I  fear  you  are  as  hostile  to  us  as  ever.     Yet  it 


146  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

seems  to  me  —  I  say  it  with  all  reserve  —  that  these 
days  should  have  done  something  for  us." 

Faber  thrust  his  hand  deep  into  his  pocket,  and 
bit  into  his  cigar. 

''They've  taught  me  nothing,  except  to  say  'kismet.' 
Who  knows  truly  how  a  man's  destiny  works?  I 
shall  make  Mary  ska  de  Paleologue  one  of  the  richest 
women  in  Europe  —  well,  there  I  come  in.  Money's 
stronger  than  most  things,  and  it's  going  to  be  stronger 
than  a  man's  death  on  this  occasion.  Wait  until  the 
story  is  written,  then  we'll  draw  the  moral." 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  go  to  England  at  once?" 

"To-morrow,  in  my  yacht,  if  you  can.  I  go  to 
Berlin  to  sign  up  a  contract  for  rifles,  but  I  expect 
to  be  in  London  in  a  fortnight's  time.  You  should 
have  your  house  then.  There'll  be  no  difficulty  when 
you  show  them  the  money.  I  leave  all  that  to  you 
and  to  Miss  Gabrielle.  She's  got  to  be  the  good  angel 
in  this  affair.  I'm  counting  on  her  right  through." 

"You  may  well  do  that.  She  is  a  wonderful  or- 
ganizer; no  talk,  no  fuss.  I  am  sure  they  would  have 
liked  her  in  America  if  we  had  gone  to  Yonkers.  As 
it  is,  I  really  don't  know  what  to  say  to  those  people." 

"Oh,  tell  them  to  go  to  hell!"  said  Faber,  while 
he  struck  a  match  sharply  and  relighted  his  cigar. 


The  Savannah  weighed  at  dawn,  and  all  that  day 
they  steamed  by  the  glorious  isles  of  the  matchless 
Adriatic.  Their  destination  was  Venice,  whence  Faber 
would  go  via  Munich  to  Berlin.  The  others  were  to 


A  STRANGE  VOYAGE 147 

travel  direct  by  the  Simplon  to  London — all  but  Harry 
Lassett,  who  meant  to  put  in  a  few  days  at  Montana 
before  he  returned. 

They  carried  a  young  doctor  from  Ragusa,  but  he 
soon  discovered  that  he  had  little  to  do  save  to  take 
a  fee,  a  performance  which  he  accomplished  with  truly 
professional  grace.  Mary  ska  had  a  heart  of  iron,  it 
appeared,  and  a  constitution  to  match  it.  Whatever 
the  unnameable  night  had  taught  her  of  life  or  of  men, 
she  held  the  damnable  secret  with  the  tenacity  of  a 
race  born  to  such  acts  and  schooled  in  the  creeds  of 
ferocity.  Very  silent,  suspicious  of  all,  agitated  and 
given  to  fits  of  trembling  when  alone,  those  with  her 
could  not  read  that  riddle  of  a  child's  dreams  aright. 
To  Gabrielle  she  remained  an  enigma,  seemingly  want- 
ing in  gratitude  and  anxious  to  escape  every  occasion 
for  it.  Gordon  Silvester  she  treated  as  though  he  did 
not  exist;  Harry  Lassett  was  a  problem  in  manhood 
to  awake  distrust  and  find  her  eyes  furtive.  John 
Faber  she  trusted  wholly. 

They  had  allowed  her  to  come  on  deck  during  the 
heat  of  the  day,  and  she  lay  there  in  a  hammock  swung 
between  hatches.  An  untamed  restlessness  found  her 
starting  at  every  sound.  She  would  sit  up  and  watch 
the  passers-by  as  though  afraid  of  them;  or  stare  at 
the  crew  with  deeply  black  eyes,  as  though  seeking  a 
friend  among  them.  Her  requests  that  Faber  should 
be  sent  to  her  were  unceasing.  In  his  turn,  he  liked 
to  hear  her  talk.  He  would  watch  those  eloquent  eyes, 
and  forget  that  she  had  called  him  "an  old,  old  man" 
in  the  early  days  of  their  acquaintance. 

"Will  you  come  and  sit  beside  me,  Mr.  Faber,  just 


148 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

a  little  while?  I  do  not  want  the  others  to  come.  I 
will  not  have  them  near  me." 

"But,  Maryska,  my  dear,  they  just  want  to  be  kind 
to  you,  that's  all.  Don't  you  like  Miss  Gabrielle, 
now?" 

She  thought  about  it.  Then  she  said :  "Is  she  your 
wife,  Mr.  Faber?" 

"My! — what  an  idea!  I  haven't  got  a  wife.  She's 
engaged  to  the  young  man  over  there." 

"Not  the  one  with  the  wolf's  whiskers  and  the 
teeth." 

"Of  course  not;  he's  her  father.  The  other  one 
who's  playing  with  the  quoits." 

She  watched  Harry  Lassett  a  little  while;  her  face 
became  grave. 

"He  used  to  play  that  when  last  he  came  from 
America.  He  played  with  me,  and  then  I  won  money 
for  him  from  the  others.  We  can't  do  that  here;  is 
that  right,  Mr.  Faber?" 

He  laughed  and  took  her  hand. 

"Let  me  tell  you  about  this  money,  Maryska.  Do 
you  know  I'm  very  rich,  my  dear?  They  call  me  one 
of  the  richest  men  in  the  world.  You  mustn't  think 
about  money  any  more.  I've  got  more  than  you  and 
I  will  ever  spend  if  we  live  to  be  as  old  as  Methuselah. 
So  just  change  the  subject,  little  lady,  and  find  an- 
other." 

She  made  nothing  of  it,  the  years  of  the  human 
chase  pursued  her.  Was  she  not  alone  now?  He 
could  never  help  her  again,  and  he  had  been  so  great 
a  part  of  her  life. 

"What  is  the  good  of  telling  me  this?    It  is  not 


A  STRANGE  VOYAGE 149 

my  money,  Mr.  Faber.  I  must  go  and  get  some  for 
myself  when  the  ship  stops.  You  had  no  right  to 
take  me  away  from  Ragusa — my  home  was  there. 
Why  have  you  done  it  ?" 

He  tried  to  tell  her,  but  it  was  very  difficult.  In 
some  moods  she  was  little  better  than  a  waif  of  the 
streets,  who  had  learned  to  beg  like  a  mendicant  at  a 
church  door;  in  others  her  birthright  gave  her  a 
wonderful  dignity  before  which  the  plebeian  in  John 
Faber  was  dumb. 

"I  want  you  to  have  a  new  home,  Maryska,  one 
that  you'll  be  glad  to  call  your  own.  That's  why  I'm 
taking  you  to  England.  Miss  Gabrielle  there  is  going 
to  live  with  you  and  so's  her  father.  But  it  will  be 
your  own  house  and  everything  that's  in  it  yours. 
You'll  like  it,  sure,  when  you  see  it,  my  dear.  I 
don't  think  you'll  want  to  go  back  to  Ragusa  again." 

She  listened  pensively. 

"Will  that  boy  be  there?" 

"The  one  who's  playing  games  ?" 

"Yes,  the  boy  who  laughs." 

"Oh,  I  dare  say  he'll  come  sometimes.  Do  you 
like  him,  then?" 

"I  don't  know;  he  is  very  young,  is  he  not?" 

"I  haven't  asked  his  age,  but  I  dare  say  he'll  tell 
you." 

"I  should  not  ask  him.  Men  do  not  like  to  tell 
their  age.  He  never  would.  Why  are  you  paying 
for  this  house  you  speak  of?  You  have  no  right  to 
pay  for  anything  for  me.  You  know  that  very  well." 

The  question  gave  him  his  opportunity,  and  he 
told  her  as  much  of  the  story  as  she  could  comprehend. 


150 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

Her  father  had  been  the  best  friend  he  had  ever 
known.  He  had  taken  his  mother  to  America  at  the 
crisis  of  her  fortunes.  It  was  an  obligation  he  could 
never  forget.  He  had  meant  to  do  so  much  in  return, 
but  fate  was  against  them  both.  They  must  act  to- 
gether henceforth  and  make  the  best  of  their  lives  they 
could.  She  must  help  him  to  honour  his  mother's 
name.  In  her  turn  Maryska  replied  but  vaguely.  He 
had  thought  that  she  was  not  listening,  but  when  he 
had  finished,  and  following  a  little  interval  of  silence, 
she  threw  herself  back  upon  her  cushions  and  cried 
wildly,  "Jesus  Christ !  I  never  had  a  mother  to  hon- 
our." And  that  surely  was  as  lamentable  a  confes- 
sion as  any  he  had  heard  from  her  lips. 


VI 

They  were  off  Venice  upon  the  following  night, 
and  so  favoured  by  fortune  that  the  waxing  moon 
gave  them  a  vista  of  the  hundred  isles,  beautiful  be- 
yond compare. 

A  still  sea  hardly  stirred  a  ripple  upon  the  sandy 
shores  of  the  Lido.  Venice  herself  stood  up  in  a  haze 
of  soft  light,  her  spires  and  domes  rising  above  the 
vast  lagoon  of  untroubled  waters,  dim,  mysterious, 
entrancing.  Seen  from  afar,  she  might  have  been  a 
great  house  of  dreams;  her  windows  so  many  stars 
above  a  silent  lake;  her  palaces  but  the  dark  clouds 
of  a  vision.  As  phantoms  about  them,  ships  drifted 
upon  a  reluctant  tide;  sails  took  shape  and  glided 
away,  spectres  of  an  instant,  into  the  deeper  shadows. 


A  STRANGE  VOYAGE 151 

There  were  musical  voices  crying  out  of  the  darkness ; 
notes  of  song  most  pleasing;  the  dwelling  reverbera- 
tions of  ancient  bells  to  tell  of  hours  which  should 
have  been  unnumbered.  As  they  drew  nearer  still 
and  the  Dogana  took  shape  with  the  vast  dome  of 
the  Maria  della  Salute  beyond  it,  then  it  was  as  though 
the  centuries  spoke  with  one  voice,  and  all  the  lustre 
and  the  achievement  of  a  thousand  years  were  re- 
vealed in  a  splendid  instant.  So  is  it  ever  for  those 
who  approach  Venice  from  the  sea  and  obliterate 
the  black  modernity  which  wrestles  with  her  story. 
Such  is  the  vision  of  her  which  Turner  beheld. 

Faber  watched  the  spectacle  from  the  boat  deck, 
and  was  far  from  displeased  to  find  Gabrielle  at  his 
side.  There  had  been  few  opportunities  for  confiden- 
tial talk  since  they  sailed  from  Ragusa,  and  she  her- 
self had  said  no  word  to  lead  him  to  believe  that  the 
course  of  her  life  was  about  to  be  changed.  Very 
stately  in  mien  this  night,  her  height  accentuated  by 
the  place  where  she  stood,  her  hair  a  little  wild  be- 
neath her  wrap,  eyes  very  bright  and  searching,  her 
manner  restful,  he  wondered  whence  came  the  "aristo- 
crat" in  her  lineage,  and  how  a  mere  manse  had  sent 
forth  such  a  missioner.  Let  the  assembly  be  what  it 
might,  Gabrielle  Silvester  would  take  a  proud  place. 
Intellectually  she  was  far  above  him  in  education  and 
artistic  perception,  but  he  suffered  a  sense  of  infe- 
riority with  patience,  and  admired  her  the  more  be- 
cause she  could  awaken  it.  Bertie  Morris  had  said 
that  she  was  "cold  and  Saxon."  Faber  doubted  the 
truth  of  that. 

They  discussed  many  things  in  an  ordinary  way. 


152 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

She  spoke  of  the  story  of  Venice  and  found  him  skil- 
fully parrying  his  own  ignorance.  He  knew  little  of 
the  history  of  the  place — had  heard  of  St.  Mark's  and 
of  the  "Three."  The  lion's  mouth  struck  him  as  a 
fine  idea.  There  ought  to  be  one  in  every  city  for 
cranks  and  faddists,  he  said,  and  a  special  box  for 
politicians  and  newspaper  men.  When  she  asked  him 
if  the  vision  of  the  city  suggested  nothing  more,  he 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  said  that  it 
reminded  him  of  New  York  Bay. 

"Which  is  to  say  that  all  this  talk  of  fine  buildings 
is  so  much  flute  blowing.  I  guess  our  people  wouldn't 
give  New  York  second  best  if  they  spoke  the  whole 
truth.  You'll  never  admit  as  much  yourself  just  be- 
cause you're  full  of  Eastern  prejudices.  That's  to  be 
expected.  A  thing  which  has  stood  a  thousand  years 
has  got  the  moss  of  the  world's  approval  pretty 
thick  upon  it.  I  take  off  my  hat  to  Venice,  but  I'm 
thinking  of  New  York  all  the  time." 

"Of  the  temples  of  a  mighty  industry?  Isn't  that 
in  the  advertisement  line?  I  don't  think  you  can  be 
quite  serious,  though.  It  must  mean  more  to  you 
than  that." 

"Why  should  it  mean  more  to  me.  I  guess  it's 
brick  and  marble  anyway,  and  not  so  very  much  better 
because  it's  old.  What  we  are  seeing  to-night  comes 
out  of  heaven — light  and  atmosphere  and  the  sea  for 
a  setting.  I  could  show  you  a  night  in  New  York 
Bay  which  is  up  to  anything  hereabouts.  Why  should 
I  spread  myself  when  conviction  isn't  there?  Yon- 
der's  a  beautiful  city — is  it  worse  because  there  are' 
others?" 


A  STRANGE  VOYAGE  153 

Convention  bade  her  smile,  but  she  would  yet  try 
to  teach  him. 

"You  have  no  true  inspiration,"  she  said;  "there 
will  never  be  another  great  building  in  the  world  until 
we  find  the  key  to  the  old.  If  a  man's  faith  could 
move  mountains,  he  might  build  such  a  city  as  that, 
.^ut  the  faith  must  be  there,  I  am  sure  of  that." 

"Meanwhile  the  world  gets  along  very  well  on 
stucco  fronts.  No  one  believes  very  much  in  anything 
but  money.  You  yourself  are  but  half  convinced,  and 
you  want  to  make  a  convert  of  me.  Now,  isn't  that 
the  truth,  Miss  Gabrielle?" 

She  was  very  angry  with  him. 

"You  rich  men  have  no  ideals.  You  discredit  the 
ideals  of  others.  If  I  had  your  money,  I  would  build 
such  a  temple  to  peace  as  would  compel  the  world  to 
come  in.  Oh!  think  what  one  might  do,  the  name 
one  might  leave,  the  homes  one  might  save.  It  is 
money  that  hides  all  this  from  you,  money  that  hides 
even  the  purpose  of  life  itself.  You  grub  in  the  val- 
leys when  imagination  should  lead  you  to  the  hill- 
top. Your  eyes  look  downwards — how  shall  anyone 
teach  you  to  see?" 

He  smoked  on  patiently.     Presently,  he  said : 

"There's  something  in  the  Bible  about  the  blind 
leading  the  blind.  I'll  tell  you  what.  You  are  trying 
to  convince  yourself  about  this  peace  nonsense,  and 
in  the  end  you  may  succeed.  When  you  do,  I'll  build 
your  temple  for  you;  it's  a  promise  between  us,  and 
shall  be  kept.  The  heretic  building  the  church  for  the 
faithful;  I  like  the  idea  of  that,  don't  you?" 

"You  will  never  build  it,"  she  said.    "I  have  come 


154? SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

to  know  that  now.     You  have  not  the  imagination  to 
build;  nothing  teaches  you  in  spirit." 

And  then  she  exclaimed  with  very  real  conviction : 

"You  are  a  man  without  pity  for  humanity — all 
your  story  is  told  in  that." 

He  accepted  the  savage  assault  with  a  smile  that 
was  unchanging.  Candour  in  women  pleased  him ;  as 
his  wife,  this  woman  would  carry  him  far  upon  an 
unfamiliar  road  his  ambition  had  often  sought.  In  the 
vulgar  phrase,  she  would  bring  culture. 

"I  may  be  without  pity  for  humanity,"  he  said, 
"but  humanity's  had  a  good  many  dollars  out  of  my 
pocket.  Do  you  know  how  much  humanity  I  employ 
at  Charleston,  I  wonder?  Well,  all  told,  I  dare  say 
there  are  some  nine  thousand  hands,  all  eating  and 
drinking  at  the  expense  of  the  man  whom  nothing 
touches  in  spirit.  When  I'm  dead,  maybe  I'll  write 
as  good  an  epitaph  as  your  friends  who  blow  other 
people's  trumpets  and  give  their  money  for  the  arch- 
angels who  don't  exist.  Anyway,  I'll  let  the  record 
stand,  and  as  to  this  temple  of  yours,  I'll  build  it  all 
right,  and  you  shall  have  it  as  a  wedding  present. 
Can  I  say  fairer  than  that  ?" 

She  looked  up  quickly,  her  face  flushed. 

"Why  do  you  speak  of  a  wedding  present?" 

"Because  I  must  make  haste  to  do  what  I  ought 
to  have  done  long  ago,  and  congratulate  you — of 
course,  I  did  not  know." 

She  laughed  rather  hardly.  Very  wonderful  castles 
were  falling  all  about  her,  and  a  woman's  chagrin  did 
not  help  her. 

"We  were  both  very  ignorant,"  she  said  helplessly. 


A  STRANGE  VOYAGE  155 

He  watched  her  closely.  "A  very  old  friend,  Mr. 
Lassett,  isn't  he?" 

"I  have  known  him  all  my  life." 

"Ah,  that  is  the  sure  way  of  knowing  him  better. 
Did  I  hear  he  was  a  cricketer?  I  thought  he  said 
something  of  the  kind." 

"He  is  one  of  the  greatest  cricketers  England  has 
had.  Anything  else?" 

"Why,  no;  well,  I  congratulate  you.  You'll  be 
married,  I  suppose,  before  we  meet  again." 

She  was  surprised  at  this. 

"Are  you  not  coming  to  see  Maryska  ?" 

"When  she  asks  for  me,  yes;  but  I  know  the  sex. 
She'll  have  forgotten  my  name  in  a  month's  time;  it 
is  the  privilege  of  women." 

"And  in  that  case " 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "I  shall  be  in  America  building  my 
temple.  It's  steel  mostly,  and  butters  a  good  deal  of 
humanity's  bread." 

She  was  very  much  perplexed. 

"Maryska  will  never  like  that.  I  am  sure  she  will 
be  very  unhappy  without  you." 

"I  don't  agree,"  he  said,  and  bade  her  listen. 

The  sound  of  young  voices  came  up  to  them  from 
the  cabin.  Harry  Lassett  was  talking  to  Maryska, 
and  when  she  answered  him,  there  was  a  little  ripple 
of  girlish  laughter,  which  seemed  to  say  that  she  had 
found  a  friend. 

"I  don't  agree,"  Faber  repeated,  and  then  with  some 
sternness,  he  added:  "Mr.  Lassett  is  teaching  her 
cricket,  I  suppose.  Well,  that's  a  game  I'd  rather  she 
didn't  learn!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

GOODWILL    TOWARD   MEN 


Faber  arrived  in  Berlin  three  days  after  the  yacht 
had  put  into  Venice.  The  cordiality  of  his  reception 
in  the  German  capital  surprised  him.  Known  both  as 
the  inventor  and  the  manufacturer  of  the  famous 
"Faber"  magazine  rifle,  the  greatest  instrument  of 
war  the  twentieth  century  had  yet  seen,  he  found 
himself  a  celebrity  most  welcome  to  the  Germans. 
Rarely  had  there  been  so  much  "hoching"  for  a  com- 
paratively private  individual.  Remarkable  personages 
in  remarkable  uniforms  overwhelmed  him  by  their 
hospitality;  he  was  made  familiar  with  superb  "vons" 
in  accoutrement  more  superb.  The  gay  city — by  far 
the  gayest  in  Europe  at  the  present  time — delighted 
him  by  its  capacity  for  enjoyment  and  its  freedom 
from  social  cant.  The  women  flirted  with  him  out- 
rageously. He  had  never  been  made  so  much  of  since 
fortune  first  smiled  upon  him. 

Bertie  Morris  came  from  Paris  on  the  fourth  day, 
and  brought  him  all  the  news  in  exchange  for  his  own. 
Bertie  was  not  surprised  that  Faber's  first  question 
should  be  about  little  Claudine  d'Arny,  and  what  had 
happened  to  her  since  the  tragedy  of  her  father's 

156 


GOODWILL  TOWARD  MEN  157 

death.  He  had  come  to  Berlin  prepared  to  give  a 
good  account  of  his  stewardship  in  that  affair,  and  he 
was  very  proud  of  what  he  had  done.  They  were 
at  dinner  when  the  narration  took  place,  and  the  res- 
taurant of  the  Metropole  Hotel  glowed  with  light  and 
colour,  and  the  glitter  of  fine  uniforms.  There  were 
officers  everywhere;  women  whose  gowns  neither 
Paris  nor  Vienna  might  shame.  They  moved  in  an 
atmosphere  of  soft  tints;  the  warmth  of  crimson  car- 
pets and  the  spotless  white  of  polished  walls  setting 
off  their  "creations"  to  perfection.  The  air  was  heavy 
with  the  scent  of  crimson  roses,  which  were  on  every 
table,  despite  the  season. 

Faber  had  a  table  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  and 
he  allowed  hors-d'ceuvre  and  soup  to  be  served  before 
he  interrupted  the  journalist  in  his  occupation  of  crit- 
icising the  company  with  that  running  and  often  ironi- 
cal commentary  in  which  writing  people  delight. 
When  the  prettiest  women  had  been  "sized-up,"  fa- 
mous people  reduced  to  pulp,  and  the  European  situa- 
tion dismissed  in  twenty  words,  Bertie  was  ready  to 
speak  of  Claudine.  He  was  too  good  an  actor  to  bring 
her  on  the  scene  before. 

"She  arrived  at  Cannes  yesterday,"  he  said  at  last. 
"I  chose  the  Riviera  Palace  because  it's  the  kind  of 
hotel  where  she'll  meet  the  most  people,  and  forget 
the  quickest.  Of  course,  Issy-Ferrault  is  going.  It 
was  difficult  enough  to  do  your  business,  but  I  did 
it  bluntly  in  a  business  way.  'Marry  Claudine  d'Arny,' 
I  said,  'and  she'll  have  a  guaranteed  income  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand  francs  a  year.'  His 
own  douceur  was  to  be  another  hundred  and  twenty- 


158  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

five  thousand  paid  on  the  day  the  contract  was  signed. 
I  put  it  to  him  as  plainly  as  if  I  had  a  picture  to  sell. 
In  the  end,  he  bought  her  with  no  more  scruple  than 
if  she  had  been  a  horse." 

"Blustering  first;  I  suppose,  and  talking  of  his  an- 
cestry." 

"I  don't  think — there  was  about  an  hour  and  a 
half  of  it.  Issy-Ferrault  came  out  of  the  history 
box  like  pepper  out  of  a  pot.  You'd  have  thought 
they  made  France  and  that  Charlemagne  was  a  bag- 
man. When  he  was  through  with  his  talking,  I  just 
put  the  cinch  on  him  with  the  remark  that  he  wasn't 
writing  history  books  but  contracts.  He  pumped  me 
like  a  tax-gatherer  to  learn  the  why  and  wherefore 
of  it  all;  but  the  most  I  could  tell  him  was  that  an 
eld  friend  of  Claudine's  was  determined  to  see  her 
through  and  that  good  hard  dollars  expressed  the 
measure  of  his  determination.  There  I  left  it,  and 
that's  what  he  signed  upon.  He'll  go  to  Cannes  and 
marry  her  directly  public  opinion  will  let  him  do  it. 
They  are  to  live  in  London,  I  understand.  He's  a 
good  sportsman  and  is  out  after  the  English  shoot- 
ing and  fishing,  so  I  told  him  to  get  a  house  in  the 
shires,  and  he  promised  to  do  so.  Claudine's  money 
will  tie  him  up  all  right — and  as  for  that,  I  should 
think  a  girl  with  those  eyes  could  hold  most  men.  You 
may  take  it,  Faber,  that  the  matter  is  settled — as,  of 
course,  it  was  bound  to  be — after  your  generosity." 

Faber  brushed  the  suggestion  aside  as  one  which 
hardly  concerned  him.  He  was  pleased  by  the  news 
and  his  pride  stirred  at  the  suggestion  of  power,  the 
reality  of  which  he  began  to  understand.  Who  but 


GOODWILL  TOWARD  MEN  159 

a  man  of  vast  fortune  could  have  repaired  such  a 
tragedy  as  that?  He  looked  Destiny  full  in  the  face 
and  laughed  at  its  omens. 

"I've  bought  most  things,"  he  said,  "but  this  is 
my  first  deal  in  husbands.  Well,  I'm  glad  the  little 
girl  is  on  the  road  again.  Isn't  this  Issy-Ferrault 
rather  a  hustler  in  his  way?  I  heard  him  well  spoken 
of  when  I  was  in  Paris;  they  say  he's  an  aeroplane 
on  the  road  or  in  the  air.  Do  you  know  of  it?" 

"Oh,  there's  some  talk.  He  was  with  Bleriot  a 
month  or  two  back.  The  French  army  does  not  sleep 
much  nowadays — a  pretty  wide-awake  lot  without 
any  whiskers  on  their  ideas.  Issy-Ferrault  is  one  of 
the  aviation  detachment.  I  suppose  he'll  be  flying 
on  his  own  account  now  if  he  can  keep  out  of  the  arms 
of  that  black-eyed  little  girl.  But  he  won't,  if  I'm 
any  judge  of  women.  She'll  stick  like  the  best  glue ; 
she's  just  the  sort." 

"Then  you  haven't  altered  your  opinion  of  her  since 
we  left  Paris?" 

"Guess  not;  nor  of  your  flaxen-haired  Venus 
either.  You  don't  tell  me,  by  the  way,  what's  become 
of  her." 

"She's  gone  to  London  to  get  married." 

Bertie  opened  his  eyes  very  wide. 

"To  get  married !    Who's  the  man  ?" 

"He's  a  boy — knocks  balls  about  and  considers 
himself  famous.  Just  one  of  these  British  boys,  nice 
voice  and  manners,  and  legs  like  the  Moses  in  the 
pictures.  I  don't  think  you  would  have  named  him 
for  her  choice  in  twenty  guesses,  but  there  it  is. 
They've  been  billing  and  cooing  on  the  Adriatic  for 


160 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

a  week,  and  now  they've  gone  to  do  it  in  London. 
They're  a  difficult  proposition,  Bertie." 

Bertie,  watching  him  shrewdly,  guessed  the  same. 

"Is  she  in  love  with  him — real?" 

"Ask  me  something  else.  She's  a  woman,  and 
being  a  woman,  many  sided.  One  side  likes  being 
kissed  on  the  lips  by  twenty-two,  who  must  be  big- 
limbed  and  masculine.  The  other  sides  are  turned 
toward  various  objects — ambition,  money,  and  a 
woman's  common  vanities.  She's  at  an  age  when 
they  turn  like  a  wind  vane,  and  as  often.  If  he 
catches  her  in  a  calm,  he'll  marry  her." 

"But  if  he  doesn't — well,  that's  in  the  air.  You 
were  speaking  of  Rupert  Trevelle  a  while  back.  He's 
over  there  in  the  corner  yonder.  Shall  I  introduce 
him?" 

Faber  looked  up  and  saw  a  man  of  about  his  own 
age,  faultlessly  dressed,  and  accompanied  by  two 
pretty  women  in  the  smartest  gowns.  Trevelle,  by 
his  looks,  should  either  have  been  a  major  of  a  smart 
cavalry  regiment,  or  in  "the  diplomatic."  He  had 
jet  black  hair  and  a  fierce  moustache,  large  manners 
and  a  habit  of  authority.  His  party,  like  their  own, 
had  just  finished  dinner,  and  presently  they  all  found 
themselves  in  the  lounge  where  mutual  introductions 
were  made. 

"My  friend,  Mr.  John  Faber,  of  Charleston,  the 
Baroness  von  Hartmann,  Lady  Florentine.  This  is 
Mr.  Rupert  Trevelle,  of  whom  Sir  Jules  Achon  has 
spoken.  So  now  we  all  know  each  other  and  may 
get  down  to  business." 

Bertie  placed  chairs  for  the  party,  and  with  one 


GOODWILL  TOWARD  MEN 161 

of  his  characteristic  "Shall  we's,"  he  ordered  coffee 
and  liqueurs.  Faber  found  himself  between  Trevelle 
and  the  baroness — a  woman  with  a  milk-white  skin 
she  was  at  no  pains  to  conceal,  and  a  method  of  crush- 
ing her  handkerchief  in  a  fat  hand  which  was  quite 
deadly  with  young  men.  She  spoke  little  English, 
but  that  was  sufficient  to  convey  to  the  somewhat  re- 
served American  an  intimation  of  possible  weakness 
under  pleasant  conditions  and  of  her  own  indifference 
to  the  absurdities  of  some  modern  conventions.  Tre- 
velle, on  the  other  hand,  had  great  news,  and  he  be- 
stowed it  as  gracious  manna  upon  a  field  of  fertile 
flirtation. 

"They  are  talking  of  you  at  the  Embassy  to-night," 
he  said. 

Faber  merely  retorted,  "Why,  is  that  so?"  and 
edged  a  little  farther  from  the  baroness. 

"Indeed,  it  was  very  much  so.  You  know  that 
you  are  to  have  the  White  Cross  of  Prussia?" 

"That's  fine  news.     Has  Sir  Jules  got  anything?" 

"Nothing  whatever.  They  don't  give  white 
crosses  for  ideas,  more's  the  pity.  Jules  Achon  is  a 
great  man — the  world  will  find  it  out  some  day." 

"The  sooner  the  better  for  its  credit.  What  you 
have  to  do,  Mr.  Trevelle,  is  to  educate  the  people ; 
but  I'm  telling  you  nothing  new.  You  know  that  as 
well  as  I  do." 

"Most  certainly  I  do;  I  have  told  Sir  Jules  so 
some  ten  thousand  times.  He  has  a  great  idea,  but 
he  must  have  public  opinion  behind  it.  The  people 
make  war  to-day,  not  the  princes." 

"But  princes  have  a  say  in  it,  sure." 


162  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"They  do  when  the  people  are  willing  that  they 
should.  At  present  the  popular  mind  is  pretty  well 
where  it  was  fifty  years  ago.  Look  at  the  reputation 
you  bear  in  Berlin.  Why?  Because  you  have  made 
an  instrument  which  allows  the  German  to  kill  his 
enemies  as  he  has  never  been  killing  them  before." 

"You  are  saying,  vat?"  asked  the  baroness,  impa- 
tient of  neglect.  "You  are  telling  Mister  Faber  to  kill 
ze  enemies?" 

"Of  his  own  sex,  madame,"  retorted  Trevelle  im- 
mediately. 

"Then  he  is  not  like  ze  Spanish  king,  who  do  not 
kill  his  enemy  because  he  have  killed  him  already. 
I  should  be  afraid  of  this  friend  of  yours;  he  have 
nothing  but  killing  in  his  mind — he  live  to  kill,  is  it 
not  so?" 

"Oh !"  said  Trevelle,  "you  must  ask  the  ladies  about 
that." 

The  baroness  shook  her  head. 

"We  was  all  to  go  to  the  Alcazar  to  see  the  Russian 
dancers.  Why  do  we  stay?  I  am  all  hot.  I  would 
get  far  from  here — all  hot,  and  yet  they  say  dat  in 
England  is  joost  one  good  big  cold,  so  cold  dat  ze  nose 
is  freeze  off  the  face.  Shall  we  go  to  dance,  Mr. 
Trevelle?" 

Trevelle  said,  "Certainly."  He  had  heard  of  the 
terrible  winter  they  were  having  in  England,  and  was 
glad  not  to  be  in  London. 

"The  Thames  will  be  frozen  right  over,"  he  told 
them,  "the  first  time  since  the  beginning  of  the  nine- 
teenth century.  I  suppose  there  is  something  in  this 
story  of  the  weakening  of  the  Gulf  Stream  after  two 


GOODWILL  TOWARD  MEN  163 

years  of  drought  over  yonder.  Anyway,  it's  extraor- 
dinary. I  wonder  what  would  happen  if  the  Channel 
froze ?" 

"Ah!"  said  Faber,  "a  good  many  people  would 
wonder  then,  and  some  of  them  would  be  in  Berlin. 
I  don't  think  Sir  Jules's  stock  would  stand  very  high 
if  that  happened,  Mr.  Trevelle." 

"But  you  think  it  quite  impossible?" 

"Which  is  to  say  that  I  dictate  to  Nature.  Well, 
I  don't  think  I  should  do  that  at  my  time  of  life." 

They  all  laughed,  and  went  off  to  the  Alcazar, 
where  a  Russian  woman  danced  divinely,  and  was 
followed  by  a  red-nosed  man,  who  broke  plates  to  the 
great  delight  of  an  immense  audience.  Faber  was  not 
displeased  to  find  himself  with  these  two  pretty  women 
in  a  box,  where  all  the  world  could  see  him;  and  it 
occurred  to  him  before  he  had  been  there  very  long 
that  the  house  had  recognised  him,  and  that  he  was 
being  pointed  out  to  other  pretty  women  in  the  seats 
below.  Certainly,  this  visit  to  Berlin  was  becoming 
a  famous  thing  in  its  way.  It  compelled  him  to  under- 
stand the  meaning  of  that  fame  he  had  won  for  him- 
self and  the  homage  paid  both  to  him  ancl  to  his  house. 
A  glamour  of  life,  unknown  hitherto,  but  very  daz- 
zling, could  influence  even  so  balanced  a  judgment  and 
so  cynical  a  student  of  humanity.  Hardly  one  of  the 
women,  rustling  in  silks  and  velvets,  bedizened  in 
jewels — hardly  one  of  them  to  whom  he  might  not 
have  thrown  the  handkerchief,  if  he  would.  The 
knowledge  flattered  his  pride,  and  set  him  thinking  of 
Gabrielle  Silvester.  Well  dressed  and  wonderful  as 
these  women  were,  Gabrielle  would  have  held  her  own 


164> SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

among  them  all.  He  thought  of  her  as  destined  to 
rule  amid  a  glitter  of  jewels  and  an  incense  of  roses. 
There  was  no  house  in  all  Europe  she  could  not  grace, 
he  said. 

A  vain  thought.  She  was  engaged  to  a  fool  of  a 
boy,  who  could  play  cricket ;  and  that  very  night  upon 
his  return  to  the  hotel,  he  found  a  letter  from  her  in 
which  she  confessed  to  the  folly  without  excuse. 
Harry  wished  for  an  early  day.  He  had  altered  his 
plans,  and  thought  now  that  he  would  not  go  to  Aus- 
tralia. 

II 

Faber  read  the  letter  in  a  deep  chair  by  the  fire- 
side— in  his  private  room  at  the  Metropole.  Bertie 
Morris,  meanwhile,  had  the  English  newspaper  and  a 
very  large  whisky  and  soda.  Both  men  had  caught 
the  Berlin  habit,  and  lived  rather  by  night  than  by 
day.  The  hotel  itself  was  then,  at  a  quarter  to  one 
in  the  morning,  beginning  to  amuse  itself  seriously. 

Gabrielle  wrote  a  pretty  hand,  round  as  her  own 
limbs,  precise  as  her  own  habits,  with  here  and  there 
a  fine  flourish  to  denote  a  certain  want  of  stability. 
It  was  to  be  expected  that  she  would  make  early 
mention  of  her  charge;  but  she  dwelt  so  insistently 
upon  what  Maryska  de  Paleologue  had  done  that  she 
must  have  presupposed  an  interest  beyond  the  com- 
mon. And  then  there  was  the  postscript — a  word  of 
real  alarm  or  of  deep  design.  Faber  readily  granted 
the  former,  and  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
latter.  Gabrielle  was  transparently  honest  in  all  that 
she  said  and  wrote. 


GOODWILL  TOWARD  MEN  165 

"We  arrived  in  London  after  a  bitter  journey," 
the  letter  ran,  "the  frost  has  returned,  and  the  cold 
is  dreadful.  I  am  afraid  Mary  ska  feels  it  ve*y  much 
after  Ragusa,  and  is  not  grateful  to  us  for  bringing 
her  to  such  an  inhospitable  country.  The  streets  of 
London  shone  like  rivers  of  ice  as  we  drove  through, 
and  even  my  father  now  admits  that  there  is  some- 
thing in  a  taxi.  What  Maryska  does  not  understand 
is  your  threatened  journey  to  America,  and  your  un- 
kindness  in  leaving  us  all  with  so  brief  a  farewell. 
She  is  very  strange  here,  and  she  is  entirely  without 
friends — though  Harry  has  done  his  best  to  cheer  her 
up,  and  has  really  developed  surprising  powers  as  a 
private  entertainer.  Perhaps  the  cold  and  the  fog  have 
affected  her  spirits  unduly — I  would  not  make  too 
much  of  it,  but  she  is  undoubtedly  changed  since  we 
left  Venice,  and  the  change  is  not  for  the  better !  This 
much  you  ought  to  know. 

"Of  course,  it  is  much  too  early  yet  to  speak  of 
the  house.  We  are  all  at  Hampstead  in  the  old  home, 
and  it  seems  difficult  to  believe  that  so  much  has 
happened  in  so  short  a  time.  I  refuse  to  allow  that 
Christmas  Day  falls  next  week,  and  that  in  twelve  days 
we  shall  be  ringing  the  old  year  out.  If  anything 
could  convince  me  it  is  this  bitter  cold,  this  biting 
cruel  weather,  which  is  like  nothing  England  has  seen 
before,  and  I  hope  will  be  like  nothing  that  is  to  come 
after.  Here  at  Hampstead,  they  say  the  ice  is  inches 
thick  upon  the  ponds — I  can  hear  the  whir  of  the 
skates  from  my  windows,  and  everyone  who  passes 
is  dressed  like  a  grizzly  bear.  Maryska  has  seen  a 
severe  winter  in  America,  and  suffered  terribly  there 


166 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

because  of  the  cold.  So  you  will  understand  how 
anxious  we  are  about  her,  and  how  very  watchful  it 
is  necessary  to  be. 

"My  father  says  she  is  the  strangest  compound 
of  oddities  he  has  ever  encountered.  It  is  a  descrip- 
tion which  does  less  than  justice  to  an  original  char- 
acter. Of  religion  she  has  none.  Her  god  is  an  oath 
— nothing  more :  and  yet  to  say  that  she  is  without  a 
deep  capacity  of  feeling  would  be  untrue.  Some  of 
her  ideas  are  fantastic — I  suppose  the  orthodox  would 
call  them  barbarous.  She  has  a  locket  about  her  throat 
with  a  miniature  of  the  Crucifixion  after  Francesco. 
I  know  that  she  has  painted  out  the  face  of  Christ,  and 
made  a  crude  likeness  of  her  father  in  its  place.  Her 
trunk  is  full  of  his  drawings — there  are  hardly  any 
clothes,  poor  child,  and  we  shall  have  to  fit  her  out 
directly  she  is  well  enough.  By  that  time  we  should 
know  where  we  are  to  live,  if  I  can  persuade  my 
father  to  see  the  house  agents.  He  has  a  morbid  idea 
that  he  will  commit  some  great  mistake,  and  I  should 
not  be  surprised  if  he  took  a  good  many  houses  be- 
fore the  New  Year. 

"The  only  other  news  is  that  Harry  does  not  now 
think  that  he  will  go  to  Australia.  He  appears  to  be 
capricious  in  his  new  ideas,  and  is  ready  to  insist  upon 
a  crisis  in  our  affairs.  This  is  so  wholly  unexpected, 
that  I  do  not  know  what  to  say  about  it.  The  founda- 
tions of  the  Temple  are  not  laid,  and  it  would  be 
terrible  if  the  building  fell.  I  suppose  it  is  all  very 
serious,  and  I  should  consider  it  in  that  light,  but  I 
remain  an  enigma  to  myself,  and  am  content  to  let 
the  future  speak  for  itself. 


GOODWILL  TOWARD  MEN  167 

"Oh,  how  cold  it  is — how  cruelly  cold !  I  can  write 
no  more,  even  by  a  warm  fireside.  Perhaps  Maryska 
will  write  herself  soon — horrible  thought,  I  have  yet 
to  learn  if  the  child  can  write  at  all.  When  she  reads, 
she  terrifies  me  with  the  possibilities.  Her  acquaint- 
ance with  the  most  dreadful  words  is  a  daily  fright  to 
me !  She  speaks  Italian  and  French  quite  fluently,  and 
another  language  which  my  father  does  not  recog- 
nise, but  thinks  may  be  Roumanian.  He  brought  a 
professor  of  Oriental  languages  from  one  of  the  Uni- 
versities here  yesterday,  but  the  poor  man  was  utterly 
at  sea.  I  am  sure  he  did  not  understand  a  single  word 
of  what  she  said — none  knew  that  better  than  clever 
Maryska ! 

"She  is  asking  for  you  every  day,  and  I  must  tell 
her  that  you  are  going  to  America.  It  is  a  heavy 
burden  upon  my  poor  shoulders.  Yesterday  she  said, 
'Even  his  friend  has  gone  away.'  So,  you  see,  she 
knows  that  you  were  his  friend,  and  I  am  sure  that 
will  not  be  unwelcome  to  you. 

"Believe  me,  with  all  our  kindest  regards, 
"Dear  Mr.  Faber,  yours  sincerely, 

"GABRIELLE  SILVESTER." 

"P.S. — The  news  is  not  so  well  to-night.  We 
have  had  another  day  of  the  damp  cold,  and  I  am 
seriously  alarmed  for  her.  Have  we  done  right  to 
bring  such  a  hot-house  plant  to  England  at  all?  She 
is  asking  for  you  again  even  as  I  write,  for  she  knows 
that  it  is  written.  'Tell  him,'  she  says,  'that  he  would 
have  wished  it.  Then  he  will  come  to  me.'  I  am 
doing  my  duty  even  if  it  be  done  without  hope." 


168 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

III 

Bertie  Morris  drained  his  glass  and  then  folded  the 
paper  he  had  been  reading  with  great  nicety.  The 
journalistic  habit  inspired  a  restless  curiosity  which 
would  probe  even  the  intimate  affairs  of  his  friends. 
He  knew  that  the  letter  was  of  great  importance,  and 
was  almost  indignant  that  his  great  friend  did  not 
speak  of  its  contents. 

"Well,"  he  said,  with  a  pretence  of  a  yawn,  "I 
suppose  it's  time  for  me  to  be  trotting.  See  you  to- 
morrow, anyhow." 

Faber  thrust  the  letter  into  his  breast  coat  pocket 
and  lighted  a  new  cigar. 

"If  I  am  here,  why,  yes;  maybe  I'll  not  be  here." 

"You'll  not  be  here!  But  haven't  you  an  appoint- 
ment with  General  Heinstein,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
Count?" 

"An  excellent  pair;  they  can  amuse  my  man  of 
business.  I  guess  I'm  going  to  England." 

Bertie  whistled. 

"You  don't  toe  the  mark  for  any  ceremony,  Faber. 
What  about  this  White  Cross?" 

"Let  them  hang  it  round  the  neck  of  the  little 
girl  at  the  Alcazar.  I've  seen  the  Emperor,  the  one 
big  man  in  this  country,  perhaps  the  one  big  man  in 
Europe,  unless  you  care  to  name  Kitchener.  The  oth- 
ers are  no  good  to  me." 

"Then  you'll  be  going  sure?" 

"Not  sure  at  all.  See  me  in  the  morning,  and  I'll 
write  the  bulletin.  Just  at  the  moment  I'm  thinking 
about  it." 


GOODWILL  TOWARD  MEN  169 

"Well,  I  hope  you  won't  go,  anyway.  If  you  do, 
so  long." 

He  put  on  his  hat  slowly  as  though  still  hoping 
to  hear  the  reason  why.  That  the  "flaxen-haired  Ve- 
nus" had  something  to  do  with  it  Bertie  Morris  was 
convinced;  and  being  a  mere  man,  conviction  amused 
him.  Had  Faber  said  a  word  to  invite  his  confi- 
dence, he  would  have  spoken  freely  enough.  What 
was  this  multi-millionaire,  who  might  marry  where 
he  pleased  in  any  famous  family  in  Europe,  what 
was  he  doing  in  the  company  of  a  mere  parson's 
daughter?  Here,  in  Berlin,  Bertie  could  have  named 
half  a  dozen  high  and  mighty  personages,  beautiful 
women  with  wonderful  swan-like  necks  and  the  blood 
of  bountiful  barons  in  their  delicate  veins,  who  would 
have  packed  their  traps  like  one  o'clock  had  John 
Faber  but  dropped  a  handkerchief  in  their  path.  And 
here  he  was,  restless  and  uneasy  and  stark  indifferent 
to  his  social  opportunities  in  the  German  capital,,  just 
because  a  tall  girl  with  flaxen  hair  had  preached  ser- 
mons upon  peace  to  him,  and  rubbed  in  the  moral  with 
some  meaning  glances  from  far  from  inexpressive 
eyes.  Bertie  could  not  make  head  or  tail  of  such 
primitive  passions,  and  he  gave  up  the  business  as 
incomprehensible. 

He  had  left  Faber  upon  a  note  of  interrogation, 
and  to  the  man  chiefly  concerned  it  was  a  perplexing 
note  enough.  Should  he  go  to  England  because  this 
little  waif  of  the  world  had  called  him,  or  should  he 
leave  her  to  forget,  as  forget  she  must  before  many 
weeks  had  run?  If  he  went,  he  would  recreate  for 
himself  all  those  difficulties  he  experienced  when  in 


0170  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

the  presence  of  Gabrielle  and  of  her  sometimes  inexpli- 
cable charm.  That  she  was  drifting,  drifting  into  the 
marriage  with  Harry  Lassett,  he  would  not  deny.  The 
tragedy  of  her  life  might  be  the  consummation  of  that 
marriage  based  upon  the  passion  of  an  hour  and 
doomed  to  perish  as  swiftly.  Dimly  he  perceived  the 
truth  about  himself  and  about  her.  Both  had  been 
tempted  by  a  physical  instinct — both  were  born  to  a 
destiny  more  spiritual.  He  himself  had  stood  for  an 
instant  toward  Maryska  de  Paleologue  as  Gabrielle 
towards  this  very  human  boy.  And  the  child  had 
called  him  "an  old,  old  man,"  awakening  realities  with 
her  words  and  opening  his  eyes  as  no  other  had  dared 
to  do. 

Long  he  debated  it,  perplexed  beyond  experience. 
Should  he  go  to  England,  and  if  he  did,  what  then? 
Day  did  not  help  him,  nor  the  early  hours  of  a 
busy  morning.  It  was  not  until  he  had  lunched  that 
they  handed  him  a  cable  from  Gabrielle,  and  he  knew 
that  the  argument  was  ended. 

"She  is  very  much  worse.  I  think  you  had  better 
come." 

So  the  cable  ran.  He  caught  the  night  mail,  and 
was  at  Ostend  upon  the  following  morning. 


BOOK  HI 
AFTERMATH 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   MEMORABLE  WINTER 

\ 

I 

The  leap  into  the  dark  is  made  willy-nilly  by  every 
passenger  who  steps  upon  a  mail  boat  at  night  and 
asks  no  preliminary  question  concerning  the  weather. 

What  a  spectacle  it  is  of  ease  buffeted  by  necessity 
at  the  harbour  station;  of  luxury  driven  out  howling 
to  the  rigour  of  a  raw  and  relentless  atmosphere;  of 
gregarious  humanity  sent  as  sheep  to  the  slaughter 
or  the  satiety  of  the  elements.  Here  comes  the  train 
blazing  with  lights.  The  passengers  wake  from  their 
unsettled  slumbers  to  de-wrap  and  thrust  anxious 
faces  from  the  carriage  windows.  They  call  for  por- 
ters in  many  tongues,  and  porters  often  enough  are  not 
vouchsafed  to  them.  There  is  a  dreadful  confusion 
upon  the  platform — the  strong  pressing  upon  the  weak, 
the  helpless  giving  place  to  the  cunning,  the  rich  won- 
dering that  they  cannot  bribe  the  sea.  So  we  go  to 
the  ship  lying  as  a  phantom  at  the  wharf.  She  must 
laugh  at  all  this  humanity  so  suddenly  uncoddled. 
It  is  little  to  her  whether  the  night  be  fine  or  windy. 
She  has  no  rugs  to  cast  aside,  and  the  porters  can  do 
nothing  for  her. 

Faber  was  an  expert  traveller,  and  his  man,  Frank, 
173 


174 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

a  paragon.  He  found  a  cabin  reserved  for  him  upon 
the  steamer  City  of  Berlin,  and  was  surprised  when 
making  his  way  below  to  rub  shoulders  with  Rupert 
Trevelle,  the  last  person  he  believed  to  be  on  the  train 
from  the  capital.  Trevelle,  old  hand  that  he  was,  ad- 
mitted that  he  had  been  caught  napping  this  time,  and 
was  without  a  berth.  It  was  the  most  obvious  thing 
to  offer  him  one. 

"Come  right  along  with  me — I  always  book  a  sec- 
ond bunk,  and  you're  welcome  to  it.  You  didn't  say 
last  night  you  were  going  across  ?" 

"I  hadn't  heard  from  Sir  Jules  then.  It's  his  busi- 
ness which  is  taking  me.  He's  thinking  of  going  to 
St.  Petersburg." 

"A  wonderful  man,  sir! — this  appears  to  be  our 
den.  Come  right  in,  and  when  the  ship  starts  we'll 
get  some  cigars  and  some  claret  if  they've  any  aboard. 
Ever  try  claret  against  sea-sickness?  It's  the  finest 
thing  in  the  world !  I'll  give  you  a  dose  just  now." 

Trevelle  laughed,  and  began  to  dispose  his  things 
about  the  cabin.  It  was  the  best  on  the  ship,  and  the 
beds  looked  inviting  enough.  He,  however,  had  the 
Berlin  habit,  and  would  gladly  make  a  dawn  of  it. 
It  was  a  wonderful  piece  of  good  luck  that  he  should 
have  happened  upon  this  amazing  man,  who  went 
through  the  world  on  the  magic  carpet  of  luxury. 
Trevelle  determined  that  John  Faber  was  the  man 
for  him. 

"I  don't  know  about  claret,  but  a  little  rye  whisky 
would  suit  me  very  well.  You're  going  through  to 
London,  of  course?" 

"As  the  crow  does  not  fly  this  odd  weather.     Sit 


THE  MEMORABLE  WINTER  175 

down  and  take  your  boots  off.  I'm  Western  enough 
to  know  the  road  to  comfort,  and  boots  don't  carry 
you  far  along  it.  We'll  make  ourselves  snug  while 
Frank  is  putting  the  fear  of  God  into  the  steward. 
Go  right  slick,  my  boy,  and  let  us  hear  the  sound  of 
corks.  We  shall  want  all  the  warmth  we  can  get 
before  we  make  Dover  harbour." 

Trevelle  assented  to  that.  He  had  already  lighted 
a  cigar  and  was  deep  down  in  an  unprotesting  bed. 
Soon  glasses  rattled  in  the  cabin,  and  the  well-desired 
music  of  corks  was  to  be  heard.  The  steamer  moved 
slowly  from  her  moorings :  they  had  sailed. 

"So  Sir  Jules  is  going  to  St.  Petersburg?  Does  it 
strike  you  as  not  a  little  extraordinary  that  this  great 
man,  who  has  the  sanest  ideas  about  the  peace  ques- 
tion of  anyone  alive,  should  be  wandering  about  Eu- 
rope in  this  way,  knocking  at  every  door  like  a  weary 
evangelist?  To  me,  it's  a  sad  sight,  sir.  I  wish  I 
could  do  something  to  make  it  better." 

"I,  not  less,"  said  Trevelle.  "Do  you  think,  though, 
that  the  world  is  very  much  in  love  with  sane  ideas 
just  now?  I  don't.  You  hit  the  multitude  either 
with  fact  or  fiction.  The  via  media  leads  nowhere. 
Sir  Jules  says  to  these  people,  'I  can  give  you  peace, 
but  my  scheme  may  take  twenty  years  to  mature.'  So 
they  think  in  a  twenty  years'  measure!" 

"Meanwhile  the  other  man,  who  says  'Here  is 
the  millennium,  take  it !' — he  is  on  the  first  floor.  None 
the  less,  I  would  go  on  if  I  were  Sir  Jules.  He's  got 
a  real  good  thing.  When  he's  advertised  it  long 
enough,  the  public  will  know  it's  real  good,  and  he'll 
get  a  hearing.  I  said  and  I  repeat:  'Educate  the 


176  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

people — the  others  wouldn't  let  you  educate  'em,  if 
you  could.' ' 

Trevelle  laughed  at  that. 

"I  wish  you'd  come  in  yourself,"  he  said,  falling 
{Suddenly  to  great  earnestness.  "By  gad!  that  would 
be  a  coup  for  Sir  Jules !  Have  you  ever  thought  about 
it,  Mr.  Faber?  You  are  one  of  the  few  who  could 
really  help  him.  Why  not  come  and  form  an  inter- 
national committee?  You  could  work  the  American 
end  yourself — no  one  better !  I'm  sure  it  must  be  some 
interest  to  America  to  see  a  final  settlement  in  Europe, 
even  if  she  has  to  make  sacrifices  to  obtain  it.  Now, 
won't  you  think  of  it?" 

Faber  seemed  very  much  amused.  He  had  ex- 
pected this  request  from  one  or  the  other,  but  he  rec- 
ognised now  that  Sir  Jules  had  been  too  shrewd  to 
make  it.  Why,  the  very  essence  of  his  scheme  was  an 
assault  upon  American  enterprise.  It  required  this 
undaunted  hustler  to  put  the  thing  in  plain  terms — 
he  liked  Trevelle  none  the  less  for  his  effrontery. 

"I'll  think  of  it  all  right,"  he  said,  still  smiling; 
"perhaps  I  can  see  myself  upon  an  American  platform 
telling  my  fellow  countrymen  that  the  only  way  to 
keep  Europeans  from  cutting  each  other's  throats  is 
to  tax  our  goods  another  twenty  per  cent.  That's  the 
pith  of  Sir  Jules's  proposal.  Free  trade  in  Europe  as 
a  federated  state — no  more  internecine  rivalry.  All 
brothers,  except  when  the  United  States  are  on  hand. 
You  save  your  war  bills  because  you  fight  for  com- 
mercial reasons  nowadays,  and  there  won't  be  any 
commercial  rivalries  there.  Well,  I  don't  think  it 
would  do  on  my  side,  great  as  it  is  here.  Make  a  fed- 


THE  MEMORABLE  WINTER  177 

crated  state  of  Europe,  if  you  like,  but  my  countrymen 
would  sooner  federate  Christ  and  His  disciples. 
That's  an  honest  truth,  sir.  I  do  believe  my  country 
is  averse  to  war,  because  Almighty  God  has  taught 
her  to  be  so.  I  am  thankful  that  it  should  be  so,  and 
yet  I  don't  put  human  nature  on  too  high  a  pedestal, 
and  I  believe  America  would  fight  to-morrow  if  a 
slap  in  her  face  rang  loud  enough.  That's  why  I  go 
on  making  guns  for  a  living.  I  don't  want  to  see  men 
shot  any  more  than  any  other  man ;  but  I  do  hold  that 
the  fighting  instinct  is  deep  down  in  the  heart  of  every 
man,  and  that  you  will  require  some  centuries  yet  to 
root  it  out.  My  gospel's  there  in  so  many  words — I'm 
too  old  to  alter  it,  and  some  of  you  will  say  I  make 
too  much  money  out  of  it." 

Trevelle  expected  nothing  less,  but  he  still  persisted. 

"What  then  of  the  others — of  Carnegie  and  the 
arbitration  movement,  and  all  that?  Do  you  turn 
your  back  on  them  also?" 

"I  never  turn  my  back  on  brains  wherever  I  find 
them.  These  earnest  men,  some  of  them  men  of  genius, 
are  educating  the  people  of  the  whole  world.  I  wish 
them  God-speed!  They  are  as  truly  defending  their 
country  as  the  man  who  holds  a  rifle.  Their  enemy 
is  the  brute  beast,  born  in  us  from  the  beginning. 
They  have  to  cast  out  devils — there's  one  in  every 
man's  story,  but  the  best  of  us  keep  him  under.  It's 
just  because  there  are  others  that  men  like  myself  are 
necessary.  We  bring  brains  into  the  argument — 
no  country  was  yet  saved  without  them,  or  ever  will 
be." 

"Which  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  you  do  your 


178 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

work  in  your  own  way.  America  first  in  your  mind 
all  the  time." 

"All  the  time,  sir,  except  when  I  go  to  England, 
as  now,  to  do  what  I  can  for  those  who  may  have 
need  of  me." 

"Privately,  of  course,  Mr.  Faber " 

"Both  privately  and  publicly,  Mr.  Trevelle,  if  the 
occasion  should  arise." 

"Ah,"  said  Trevelle,  "you  are  thinking  what  might 
happen  if  this  frost  should  bring  a  panic." 

"I  am  thinking  of  nothing  else,  sir." 

II 

The  City  of  Berlin  slowed  down  very  much  as  they 
drew  near  to  Dover,  and  even  those  in  the  private 
cabins  became  aware  that  something  unusual  was  hap- 
pening. Loud  cries  were  heard  from  the  bridge,  and 
then  heavy  blows  upon  the  steel  plates — repeated 
while  the  ship  shivered  and  trembled,  and  the  dullest 
intellect  awakened.  As  it  was  not  yet  light,  none  of 
those  who  ventured  from  their  beds  to  the  decks  could 
make  much  of  the  circumstance;  but  when  dawn 
broke,  the  state  of  affairs  was  revealed,  and  surely  it 
was  significant. 

Faber  had  not  closed  his  eyes  during  the  first  four 
hours  of  the  passage,  and  he  and  Trevelle  went  out 
to  the  upper  deck  together  directly  the  light  broke. 
They  were  off  the  Goodwins  then,  upon  a  sea  so  still 
that  the  rising  sun  made  of  it  one  vast  and  silvered 
mirror.  From  an  almost  cloudless  sky  above  a  pow- 
der of  snow  fell,  as  showers  in  summer  from  the  blue 


THE  MEMORABLE  WINTER  179 

ether.  Not  a  breath  of  wind  appeared  to  be  stirring; 
the  air  was  like  ice  upon  the  cheek;  the  whole  atmos- 
phere ominously  still. 

The  men  had  lighted  cigars,  and  they  walked  aft 
to  peer  down  into  the  white  water  and  learn  what 
secrets  it  had  to  yield.  An  old  salt,  round-barrelled 
and  full  of  wise  saws,  a  man  who  had  spent  a  long 
life  upon  that  narrow  sea  which  girds  the  silver  isle, 
edged  up  to  them,  and  for  once  in  a  way  uttered  sen- 
timents which  had  not  possible  half-crowns  behind 
them.  He  was  genuinely  astonished ;  "took  all  aback," 
and  not  ashamed  to  say  so. 

"It's  ice,  gentlemen,  that's  wot  it  were.  I  seed  it 
with  these  eyes,  and  I've  been  looking  down  into  that 
waterway  nigh  four  and  forty  year.  Ice  off  the  Good- 
wins :  d n  me,  who'd  believe  it  ?" 

"I  guess  some  of  them  will  have  to  believe  it," 
said  Faber  dryly,  "unless  the  weather  keeps  them  out. 
You  don't  see  any  sign  of  a  break,  eh,  my  friend?" 

"I  don't  see  no  sign  at  all,  sir,  not  as  big  as  a 
man's  hand.  The  wind's  from  north  by  east,  and 
little  to  speak  of.  Who's  to  change  it?  Would  you 
kindly  tell  me  that?" 

"Oh,  don't  look  at  me,"  exclaimed  Trevelle  with 
a  laugh.  "I'm  not  a  bagman  in  weather.  So  far  as 
my  memory  goes,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  ice  in  the 
English  Channel  somewhere  about  1820,  and  a  very 
little  in  the  year  1887 — I've  read  it  somewhere.  You 
don't  remember  that,  my  man  ?" 

The  old  fellow  spat  into  the  sea  with  some  con- 
tempt. 

"As  much  ice  as  you  could  put  down  a  woman's 


180  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

back.  I  remember  1887  well  enough.  The  Thames 
was  nigh  froze,  and  there  was  a  fringe  of  summat 
they  called  'ice'  right  round  by  Herne  Bay  and  all 
the  way  to  Dover.  But  this  here's  more  than  a  bucket- 
ful, gentlemen — by  gosh!  it  is." 

He  jumped  involuntarily  as  a  floe,  some  yards 
wide,  struck  the  steamer  and  set  the  metal  reverberat- 
ing. All  on  deck  ran  to  the  side  and  watched  the 
dirty  ice  bobbing  like  a  human  thing  in  the  vessel's 
wash,  and  then  drifting  upon  the  tide  over  toward 
Cape  Grisnez.  Hardly  had  it  passed  when  the  cap- 
tain rang  an  order  from  the  bridge,  and  the  ship  went 
to  dead  slow.  Another  floe  had  been  sighted  ahead, 
and  it  was  large  enough  to  provoke  greater  wonder; 
a  mass  of  black  ice  as  though  coming  down  from  a 
considerable  field  over  yonder  towards  the  land.  The 
ship  passed  by  this  and  began  to  swing  round  to  make 
Dover  Harbour.  The  cold  seemed  to  be  increasing 
with  every  knot  they  made.  Such  an  experience  upon 
the  English  shore  was  within  the  knowledge  of  no 
living  man. 

"I've  been  up  to  the  ice-blink  twice,  and  I  was  in 
Alaska  three  years  ago,"  said  Trevelle.  "This  beats 
anything  I  have  seen,  easily.  What  would  you  say 
the  temperature  was,  Mr.  Faber? — phenomenal  with- 
out doubt." 

"About  as  many  degrees  below  zero  as  you  can 
get  into  a  common  swear  word.  Look  yonder  on  the 
shore.  Is  that  ice  or  am  I  dreaming  it?" 

"It's  ice  right  enough!  Hi,  my  man,  that's  ice 
by  the  harbour  wall,  isn't  it?  Good  God,  what  a 
sight !  In  the  English  Channel,  too !" 


THE  MEMORABLE  WINTER  181 

The  sailor  enjoyed  this  spontaneous  tribute  to  the 
eccentricities  of  nature.  He  thought  he  would  catch 
them  upon  an  exclamation  sooner  or  later,  and  he  did 
so  triumphantly. 

"The  harbour's  going  to  be  froze,"  he  said  sar- 
donically; "they'll  be  cutting  of  it  with  sardine-openers 
— at  least  they  were  a-talking  about  it.  You  could 
walk  as  far  as  the  bathing  machines  gin'rilly  git  out. 
I  dare  say  you'll  see  some  of  'em  a-doing  it  now  if 
your  eyes  are  good  enough.  They  tell  me  it's  the 

Gulf  Stream  what's  responsible.  Well,  d n  the 

Gulf  Stream!  say  I,  and  that's  all  about  it." 

His  peculiarities  produced  no  other  effect  than  the 
sotto  voce  of  a  chaplain's  lady,  who  thought  that  he 
was  a  very  wicked  man.  The  others  were  far  too 
much  interested  in  the  unusual  appearance  of  Dover 
Harbour  and  the  environs  to  take  any  notice  of  such 
emphasis.  Early  as  it  was,  groups  of  boys  and  lads 
sported  with  hard  ice  which  ran  right  round  the  sea- 
wall, and  even  floated  in  great  lumps  in  the  mouths 
of  the  basins.  Rills  of  waves  ran,  not  upon  a  beach 
of  shingle,  but  over  the  frozen  waters,  spreading  as 
molten  silver  and  often  freezing  as  they  ran.  There 
were  effects  of  the  frost  most  bizarre — buoys  covered 
with  the  hoar,  ropes  of  ice  where  ladders  stood,  vast 
stalactites  as  of  pure  crystal  from  the  roof  of  every 
walled  bay  into  which  the  sea  ran.  The  cold,  still  air 
breathed  upon  all  as  with  the  breath  of  the  Arctic 
wastes.  The  town  of  Dover  was  frozen  out  from  the 
heights  of  the  Castle  Hill  to  the  very  depths  of  its 
meanest  streets. 

They  went  ashore   over  a   gangway   dusted   with 


182  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

sand  that  they  might  obtain  a  foothold  upon  it.  They 
had  thought  that  it  would  be  warmer  off  the  sea, 
but  when  the  train  moved  away  and  they  crossed  the 
frozen  fields  of  Kent,  a  new  rigour  penetrated  the 
ill-warmed  carriages  and  seemed  to  search  their  very 
bones.  At  Dover  newsboys  had  cried  the  morning 
papers  with  the  latest  news  of  the  phenomenal  frost 
and  of  the  rumours  of  a  great  strike  of  transport 
workers  following  upon  it.  It  seemed  to  be  the  one 
topic  of  conversation  in  the  train  and  out  of  it.  Great 
experts  in  meteorology  had  been  interviewed  in  Lon- 
don, in  Vienna,  in  New  York.  They  agreed  that  Eng- 
land was  suffering  this  abnormal  spell  because  of  the 
reduced  flow  of  her  old  friend,  the  Gulf  Stream. 
There  could  be  no  other  logical  conclusion,  and  the 
best  that  could  be  said  was  that  the  severity  of  the 
visitation  was  the  soundest  argument  for  its  speedy 
disappearance. 

Trevelle  read  all  this  out  to  his  companion  in  the 
reserved  compartment  which  carried  them  to  Victoria. 
He  seemed  willing  to  be  impressed  by  such  authori- 
ties and  was  amazed  to  find  that  his  companion  dif- 
fered from  him  absolutely.  Faber  confessed  that  he 
had  looked  for  such  a  winter  in  England  and  would 
have  been  surprised  at  any  other.  His  manner  had 
become  a  little  restless  again,  and  he  was  very  anx- 
ious for  the  journey  to  terminate. 

"We  are  going  to  have  a  lively  time  in  London," 
he  said.  "I  guess  I'll  be  caught  in  this  pit  after  all, 
and  pretty  warm  it  will  be  for  some  of  them.  Do 
you  know  how  much  wheat  your  country  wants  every 
week  to  feed  its  people,  Mr.  Trevelle?  I've  figured 


THE  MEMORABLE  WINTER  183 

it  out,  and  it  seems  to  me  it's  somewhere  about  five 
million  bushels;  that's  wheat  alone,  to  say  nothing  of 
an  Englishman's  roast  beef  and  what  goes  with  it. 
tWell,  I  suppose  you've  food  enough  in  the  country 
'ior  three  weeks  at  a  press.  Perhaps  you  have  and 
perhaps  you  haven't.  Let  this  frost  hold  and  the  strike 
continue  in  my  country,  which  I  hear  is  likely,  and 
you're  going  to  see  the  biggest  panic  in  London  yon 
ever  saw  in  all  your  life.  I  had  a  notion  of  it  when 
I  was  last  here  and  I  mentioned  it  to  some  of  them. 
Professor  Geikie,  of  St.  Louis,  first  put  it  into  my 
head  as  long  ago  as  last  October,  when  he  was  taking 
observations  of  the  Gulf  Stream  for  the  Shippers' 
Institute  of  the  southern  ports;  he  noticed  this  check 
in  the  flow.  'Let  it  go  on,'  he  said,  'and  they'll  have 
a  winter  in  Britain  which  will  be  memorable.'  I  knew 
the  professor  and  put  my  money  behind  him.  You've 
got  the  winter,  and  you're  only  at  the  beginning  of  it. 
God  knows  when  it  will  end  or  how,  but  I'd  be  glad 
to  be  out  of  this  country  if  I  could,  and  that's  sure. 
It's  too  late  to  think  of  that,  now,  however." 

"Do  you  seriously  believe  then  that  the  wheat  sup- 
ply from  your  side  will  fail?" 

"It's  failing  already — the  cables  tell  me  so.  Great 
extremities  of  temperature  are  as  sure  a  call  to  dis- 
contented labour  as  the  spring  to  the  cuckoo.  Let 
this  go  on  a  week  and  there'll  be  something  like  a 
national  panic.  Then  you'll  see  who  believes  in  uni- 
versal peace,  and  I  guess  you'll  see  it  quick.  For  my 
part,  if  I  were  a  free  agent,  I'd  pack  and  be  off  to- 
night. But  I'm  not  a  free  agent,  and  there's  work  for 
me  to  do;  mighty  serious  work,  I  know.  Perhaps  I'll 


184  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

ask  you  to  help  me.  You're  just  the  man  for  the  job. 
You  step  quick,  and  don't  talk  on  the  road." 
"It  doesn't  concern  the  weather,  of  course?" 
"It  concerns  the  people,  Mr.  Trevelle.  I'll  tell 
you  when  the  time  comes.  We  are  in  London  now, 
I  think.  My  address  is  the  Savoy  Hotel.  Send  me 
yours  there.  To-night  I'm  off  to  Hampstead  to  see 
a  little  girl.  She's  just  out  of  Ragusa,  and  it's  to  be 
imagined  what  this  means  to  her.  The  north  is  mer- 
ciless to  the  south  in  that  respect.  I'm  afraid  of  the 
news  I  shall  hear ;  more  afraid  than  I  can  say." 

He  fell  to  silence  suddenly  as  the  train  crossed  Can- 
non Street  bridge  and  the  face  of  the  river  was  dis- 
closed. A  drizzle  of  snow  had  begun  to  fall  again, 
and  many  hummocks  of  block  ice  floated  beneath  the 
bridges.  Such  a  night  had  not  been  seen  since  Vic- 
toria was  Queen  and  Melbourne  her  Minister.  They 
entered  the  station  to  the  raucous  shouts  of  the  news- 
boys, crying  the  latest  tidings  of  the  frost. 


Ill 

In  the  suburbs,  there  was  little  real  understanding 
of  the  momentous  truth. 

Kensington,  Paddington,  and  Hampstead  were 
frozen  out,  but  their  young  people  enjoyed  the  pre- 
dicament. Weary  water-men  plugged  the  mains  and 
wondered  if  Christmas  half-crowns  would  compensate 
them  for  the  trouble.  Plumbers  left  footprints  on  the 
silks  of  time  and  had  become  great  personages.  The 
roads  were  like  iron;  the  wood  pavement  impossible 


THE  MEMORABLE  WINTER  185 

but  for  the  sand  which  covered  it.  Even  the  meanest 
wore  some  kind  of  shabby  furs,  while  the  well-to-do 
were  so  many  bundles  of  fine  skins,  from  which  rubi- 
cund jowls  peeped  out. 

Faber  went  to  the  Savoy  Hotel  and  rested  a  few 
hours  in  his  room  before  going  on  to  Hampstead. 
There  were  a  few  of  his  own  countrymen  there  and 
they,  oddly  enough,  spoke  of  a  mild  winter  in  Eastern 
America  and  a  general  absence  of  severity  throughout 
the  States.  He  learned  with  some  surprise  that  his 
meeting  with  the  Emperor  had  been  made  known  to 
New  York  and  was  considered  a  triumph  of  a  per- 
sonal kind — though  it  had  given  offence  in  some  re- 
ligious circles  and  was  supposed  to  be  antagonistic  to 
the  peace  idea.  He  determined  to  confute  this  without 
loss  of  time,  holding,  as  he  did,  the  firm  faith  that  the 
Kaiser  was  the  one  great  instrument  of  peace  in  the 
western  world,  and  had  the  sanest  ideas  upon  the  sub- 
ject. For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  there  was  a  trou- 
ble of  the  conscience  concerning  his  own  business  and 
the  mission  upon  which  it  had  sent  him.  Was  he,  in 
truth,  an  obstacle  to  a  gospel  which  had  begun  to 
obsess  the  minds  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race?  He  knew 
that  the  charge  was  false  and  his  pride  resented  it 
warmly.  He  desired  peace  absolutely — what  forbade 
him  to  prepare  the  nations  for  war? 

It  was  growing  dark  when  he  set  out  for  Hamp- 
stead, and  there  were  many  lights  in  the  little  house  in 
Well  Walk  when  he  arrived  there.  A  very  ancient 
parlourmaid,  who  would  have  served  Rembrandt  for 
"a  head,"  opened  the  door  and  told  him  that  Mr.  Sil- 
vester was  at  home.  She  added  also  that  she  had 


186  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

supposed  he  was  the  doctor,  and  plainly  conveyed  her 
disappointment  that  he  was  not. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  "the  young  lady  is  no  better,  then? 
Well,  I'm  sorry  for  that!" 

"Indeed,  and  ye  may  be,  sir.  We  think  it's  new- 
monica." 

He  shook  the  powdered  snow  from  his  boots  and 
went  into  the  hall.  Gabrielle,  hearing  footsteps,  ran 
out  on  the  landing  above  and  looked  over  the  banister. 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  Faber — how  good  of  you — how 
glad  she  will  be!" — and  saying  all  this  in  a  breath, 
she  came  down  the  stairs  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"So,  there's  no  great  danger  after  all,"  he  rejoined. 

She  looked  surprised.    "Why  no  danger  ?" 

"Because  you  come  to  me  smiling.  Well,  I'm  anx- 
ious, anyway.  Shall  I  be  able  to  see  her?" 

"Of  course,  you  will.  She  is  asking  for  you  always. 
Please  come  right  up  at  once.  Oh !  there  I  am,  speak- 
ing your  language — how  ridiculous  it  must  sound  to 
you?" 

"I  guess  it  makes  me  feel  at  home.  Is  this  the  room 
— will  she  be  ready,  do  you  think  ?" 

"She  heard  you  at  once.  She  has  been  counting  the 
hours." 

Her  soft  fingers  knocked  twice  and  they  went  in. 
The  room  was  small,  but  it  had  been  furnished  with 
a  great  elegance.  He  was  glad  to  see  some  beautiful 
white  flowers  on  a  little  table  by  the  bedside,  and  a 
basket  of  fine  grapes  with  them.  The  note  of  it  all 
was  pure  white,  with  rich  red  curtains  and  pictures 
in  gilt  frames.  The  bed  had  dimity  hangings  with 
great  red  roses  for  a  pattern.  A  fire  of  logs  roared 


THE  MEMORABLE  WINTER  187 

up  the  chimney  and  a  thermometer  was  hung  upon 
the  wall  by  the  mantelpiece. 

"Hallo!  Maryska,  my  dear!"  he  said,  going  to  the 
bed  and  pressing  her  thin  fingers  with  his  own.  He 
thought  her  terribly  changed:  the  black  eyes  shone 
as  those  of  a  famished  animal;  the  face  was  very 
white;  the  breathing  laboured;  the  hands  hot  to  the 
touch.  But  she  smiled  at  him  nevertheless  and  tried 
to  sit  up. 

"I've  got  the  marsh  fever,"  she  said,  as  though 
satisfied  by  her  own  diagnosis,  "it's  your  ship  that 
did  it.  Why  did  you  leave  me  in  this  damnable  coun- 
try when  I  was  ill?  Don't  you  hate  it  as  much  as 
my  father  did?  Oh!  I  think  you  must,  you  really 
must." 

He  was  a  little  taken  aback,  and  sat  at  the  bedside 
before  he  answered  her.  Gabrielle  nodded  as  who 
should  say,  "Now,  you  would  like  to  talk  to  each 
other."  Then  she  slipped  away,  and  closed  the  door 
softly.  The  crackling  of  the  logs  and  the  ticking  of 
the  clock  were  loud  sounds  in  the  cheery  room. 

"Why!"  he  exclaimed  at  last,  "you  surprise  me, 
Maryska.  I  thought  your  father  liked  England?" 

She  shook  her  head  almost  fiercely. 

"I'd  tell  you  what  he  said  if  she  would  let  me! 
She  says  it's  wrong.  Why  should  it  be,  when  my 
father  said  it  ?  He  called  England — but  there,  it  hurts 
me,  boss.  Oh !  it  hurts  me  so  much !" — and  with  that 
she  flung  herself  back  on  the  pillow,  warm  tears  of 
the  memory  in  her  eyes. 

He  perceived  that  she  had  no  business  to  be  talking, 
and  for  some  time  he  sat  there,  holding  her  hand  and 


188 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

watching  her.  What  a  child  she  was,  and  with  what 
justice  had  she  called  him  from  the  platform  of  her 
age,  an  "old,  old  man."  The  tragic  irony  of  his  at- 
tempt to  bring  happiness  into  the  life  of  the  man  who 
had  befriended  him  struck  him  anew  and  would  not  be 
silenced.  How  little  money  could  achieve  when  des- 
tiny opposed!  He  reflected  that  brains  were  the 
greater  instrument  and  fell  to  wondering  if  brains 
had  helped  him  in  his  dealings  with  Maryska. 

"Feeling  any  better,  my  dear?"  he  asked  her  by 
and  by.  She  turned  upon  her  side  and  looked  at  him 
with  eyes  pathetically  round. 

"I  should  be  all  right  if  I  could  get  away  from 
England,  Mr.  Faber.  Do  you  think  that  you  can  take 
me?" 

"Of  course,  I'll  take  you,  Maryska.  Where  would 
you  like  to  go  to,  my  dear?" 

She  thought  upon  it,  biting  the  sheet  with  fine 
white  teeth.  Her  white  cheeks  flushed  with  the  effort. 

"I  would  like  to  live  in  a  city  where  there  are  many 
lights — in  Paris,  I  think.  He  liked  Paris.  He  said 
it  was  a  bit  of  a  hell,  and  he  liked  it.  I  told  the  wolf 
man  with  the  whiskers  that,  and  he  said,  'Oh,  hush, 
hush!'  Why  did  he  say  that,  Mr.  Faber?" 

"Because,  my  dear,  he's  a  clergyman,  and  your 
father  was  what  we  call  a  Bohemian.  They  don't  say 
such  words  amongst  our  people.  You  mustn't  be  of- 
fended with  them,  Maryska ;  you  must  try  to  do  what 
Gabrielle  tells  you." 

She  looked  up,  her  suspicion  on  an  edge. 

"Are  you  going  to  marry  Gabrielle?" 

"Why,  how  can  you  ask  me  that?" 


THE  MEMORABLE  WINTER  189 

"Because  I  think  that  you  are." 

"What  would  she  want  with  'an  old,  old  man'  like 
me?" 

Maryska  reasoned  it  out. 

"You  are  not  so  old  when  you  are  with  her.  Be- 
sides, I  am  getting  used  to  you.  It  is  your  looks  which 
I  don't  like.  You  are  not  really  so  old,  are  you?" 

"I'm  not  forty  yet,  my  dear." 

"And  how  old  is  Harry  Lassett?" 

It  was  a  surprising  question,  and  he  turned  sharply 
when  he  heard  it. 

"Don't  you  know  that  Harry  Lassett  is  going  to 
marry  Gabrielle?" 

She  bit  her  lips  and  half  sat  up  in  bed  again. 

"I  don't  believe  that.  They  say  so,  but  it's  wrong. 
You  can't  make  any  mistake  in  those  things.  He 
used  to  beat  me  when  I  asked  him;  he  wouldn't  let 
me  talk  about  it,  but  I  know.  It's  something  which 
changes  your  life.  It  is  not  that  awful  thing  I  saw 
in  the  streets  of  Ranovica.  God  Almighty!  none  of 
those  girls  will  ever  have  a  lover  now,  will  they,  Mr. 
Faber?" 

The  child's  eyes  were  staring  into  vacancy  as  though 
she  saw  a  vision  beyond  all  words  terrifying.  Here 
in  this  silent  house  remote  from  London's  heart,  the 
unnameable  hours  of  war  were  lived  again  both  by 
the  man  and  the  girl.  John  Faber's  soul  shivered  at 
the  hidden  meaning  of  these  words  of  woe.  Had  not 
his  act  carried  Louis  de  Paleologue's  daughter  to  the 
hills?  Was  he  not  responsible  for  what  had  been? 
And  he  was  a  servant  of  such  a  nation's  instruments 
— a  servant  of  war  in  its  lesser  aspect  as  in  its  greater. 


190  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

He  did  not  dare  to  look  the  truth  in  the  face.  The 
judgment  of  God  seemed  to  be  here. 

"We  won't  speak  of  the  things  which  are  dead, 
Maryska,"  he  said  at  length.  "The  men  you  name 
are  like  the  beasts;  it  is  well  to  leave  them  in  their 
kennels.  Your  life  begins  again  with  me.  I'll  take 
you  to  Paris  directly  you  are  able  to  bear  the  jour- 
ney. Can  I  say  more?" 

"Will  you,  Mr.  Faber?  I  could  bear  the  journey 
any  time — now,  this  minute,  if  you  would  take  me/' 

"My  dear  child,  you  are  not  fit  to  go.  We  must 
nurse  you  many  days  yet." 

"That's  what  the  doctor  says.  He  never  liked 
doctors.  They  were  all — yes,  knaves,  he  said,  and  the 
other  word  which  Mr.  Silvester  hates.  Why  should 
I  be  kept  here  for  these  men  ?" 

"Because  this  time  they  are  right,  my  dear.  It's 
too  cold  for  anyone  to  go  out  of  doors.  What's  more, 
the  sailors  are  on  strike,  and  so  we  couldn't  go  if  we 
wished.  You'll  be  well  when  the  thaw  comes,  and 
then  I'll  take  you." 

"Will  Harry  Lassett  come  too  ?" 

It  troubled  him  to  hear  the  reiteration  of  this  idea. 
The  anxiety  with  which  she  regarded  him,  her  eyes 
so  big  and  round,  her  breathing  so  laboured,  her  cheeks 
so  flushed — this  anxiety  added  not  a  little  to  his  own. 

"Why  do  you  bring  that  young  gentleman  into  it?" 
he  asked  her.  "How  can  he  go  with  us?  Hasn't 
he  got  his  duties  to  do  here,  my  dear?  What  would 
Gabrielle  say  if  she  heard  it?  Wouldn't  she  be  put 
out,  don't  you  think?" 

The  round,   dark   face  assumed  an  air  almost  of 


THE  MEMORABLE  WINTER  191 

cunning.  It  was  evident  that  she  knew  just  what 
Gabrielle  would  say,  but  was  unmoved  nevertheless. 

"What  does  'engaged'  mean  in  England?  When 
he  and  I  were  in  Paris,  a  lot  of  them  came  to  the 
studio.  They  would  be  engaged  for  a  little  while, 
and  then  there  would  be  others.  Jeannette  Arrn  had 
three  lovers  while  I  was  there — Henri  Courtans  was 
the  last.  Was  she  engaged  to  him?" 

It  was  very  earnestly  put,  and  it  embarrassed  him. 
What  a  life  the  child  had  lived;  what  an  education 
had  been  hers !  And  now  he  feared  that  the  inevitable 
had  come  to  be.  Thrown  into  the  society  of  the  big- 
limbed  boy,  she  had  immediately  fallen  in  love  with 
him.  This  should  have  been  looked  for,  and  it  would 
have  been  if  he  had  realised  a  little  earlier  the  nature 
of  her  birthright  and  its  consequences.  She  was  born 
in  a  land  where  passion  is  often  uncurbed  and  the  blood 
runs  hot  in  the  veins.  Religion  had  done  nothing  for 
her;  those  who  would  educate  her  must  begin  at  the 
very  beginning.  He  himself  felt  totally  unfit  for  the 
task.  And  she  had  refused  already  to  live  with  the 
Silvesters,  at  any  rate  in  England. 

"Has  Harry  Lassett  spoken  to  you  about  going 
to  Paris?"  he  asked  upon  an  impulse.  She  shook  her 
head. 

"I  wish  he  would.  I  wish  he  would  ask  me  to  go 
away  from  her." 

"Don't  you  think  it  would  be  very  unkind  to  Ga- 
brielle to  go  with  him  even  if  there  were  no  other 
reason  ?" 

"I  don't  think  that.    She  wouldn't  care." 

"She  is  going  to  be  his  wife." 


192  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"Yes,  and  that  is  why  I  hate  her." 

No  further  question  could  be  asked  or  answered, 
for  Gabrielle  entered  the  room  at  the  moment,  and 
immediately  the  child  hid  herself  in  the  bedclothes 
and  would  not  speak  another  word. 


CHAPTER  II 

OF  LOVE  BUT  NOT  OF  MARRIAGE 
I 

"You'll  stay  to  dinner?"  she  asked,  as  they  went 
down  to  the  drawing-room  together  a  little  later  on. 
It  was  very  warm  and  snug  there,  and  the  deep  red 
shades  upon  the  lamps  appeared  to  him  particularly 
English.  They  had  few  such  suggestions  of  home  in 
his  country. 

"Why,"  he  rejoined,  "if  it  will  not  be  putting  you 
out." 

"We  have  some  pea  soup  and  a  sole.  My  father 
is  Popish  enough  to  eat  little  meat,  but  that  is  for 
his  stomach's  sake — as  Timothy  was  to  drink  wine. 
Of  course,  the  baby  cannot  eat  anything  at  all.  Did 
you  think  very  badly  of  her,  I  wonder?  Is  she  really 
as  ill  as  the  doctors  make  out?" 

"Tell  me  how  ill  the  doctors  make  her  out,  and 
I'll  say  what  I  think.  Anyway,  it  isn't  pneumonia  yet. 
I've  seen  too  much  of  it  to  be  scared  by  that  particular 
spook.  She's  a  bit  of  congestion  of  the  lungs,  and 
she's  worrying  herself  into  a  fever.  The  rest's  doc- 
tor's talk — what  they  take  a  fee  to  say." 

She  smiled,  and  went  on  busying  herself  about  the 
room.  The  fire  light  showed  all  her  height  and  the 

193 


194.  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

fine  contour  of  well-developed  limbs.  Every  move- 
ment was  full  of  grace,  he  said.  Gabrielle  Silvester 
could  have  taken  her  place  in  any  society  in  Europe. 
For  an  instant,  he  thought  of  her  as  the  bejewelled 
hostess  of  a  Fifth  Avenue  mansion,  and  that  thought 
returned  later  on. 

"It  is  good  to  hear  you,"  she  said  with  a  light 
laugh.  "Everyone  who  comes  to  a  sick  house  seems 
to  think  it  necessary  to  speak  in  a  morbid  whisper. 
They  expect  to  look  sorrow  in  the  face  on  the  door- 
step. Of  course,  she  has  been  very  ill — dangerously 
ill,  I  think.  Our  bringing  her  to  England  was  a  very 
great  mistake;  even  father  knows  that  now." 

"Then  she  isn't  very  happy  here?" 

"Very  far  from  it.  Did  she  say  anything  of  it  to 
you?"  " 

"Why,  yes;  she  asked  me  to  take  her  away  by  the 
next  train." 

"I  thought  she  would;  was  it  back  to  Italy?" 

"No;  to  Paris — and  what's  more,  she  wants  Harry 
Lassett  to  be  of  the  party." 

He  thought  it  necessary  to  tell  her  this:  he  had 
debated  it  while  sitting  there  and  watching  her  grace- 
ful movements  about  the  room.  His  own  act  had 
committed  Maryska  to  her  charge;  his  own  words 
must  warn  her  of  a  possible  danger.  Upon  her  part, 
however,  the  whole  thing  was  treated  without  con- 
cern, merely  as  the  odd  whim  of  a  capricious  child  who 
was  sick.  She  surprised  him  very  much  by  her  atti- 
tude. 

"Harry  amuses  her,"  she  said  without  turning,  "he 
can  be  so  atrociously  vulgar.  An  accomplishment, 


OF  LOVE  BUT  NOT  OF  MARRIAGE     195 

is  it  not,  when  it  brings  a  little  sunshine  ?  They  have 
been  the  best  of  friends,  and  he  comes  here  every  day 
with  some  present  or  other  for  her.  It  is  all  quite 
pretty,  and  I  am  very  grateful  to  him." 

"Then  you  would  approve  of  his  coming  on  my 
yacht?" 

"If  he  could  go,  yes;  but  I  know  that  it  is  quite 
impossible.  He  has  developed  a  surprising  interest  in 
his  business ;  he  is  in  town  every  day.  It's  really  most 
wonderful !" 

"May  I  ask  what  his  business  is,  by  the  way?" 

She  looked  a  little  pained. 

"He  gets  money  from  the  people  who  sell  stocks 
and  shares — the  jobbers,  don't  you  call  them?" 

"That's  the  name,  to  be  sure.  So  he  goes  down 
to  the  city  to  watch  them  making  money  for  him.  It's 
a  joyous  employment,  sure;  it  won't  make  him  bald!" 

Gabrielle  did  not  like  the  tone  of  this  at  all,  she 
bridled  instantly. 

"I  dare  say  that  Mr.  Lassett  is  very  well  content 
with  it.  Don't  you  think  that  we  might  be?" 

"Why,  certainly,  I  do.  That's  just  what  was  in 
my  thoughts  just  now.  If  he's  so  well  occupied  in 
London,  he  won't  mind  your  taking  a  little  holiday 
with  me !" 

"With  you !    How  odd  it  sounds !" 

"Odd,  or  even;  I  mean  every  word  of  it.  Will 
you  come  to  Florida  on  the  Savannah?" 

She  hesitated  and  flushed.  There  are  some  tones 
of  a  man's  voice  a  woman  never  mistakes.  Let  him 
lie  to  her,  and  she  may  be  wholly  convinced;  deceive 
her  by  vain  promises,  and  she  will  believe  him — but 


196 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

let  him  touch  the  tonic  of  a  lover's  chord,  and  her 
instinct  is  immediately  attuned.  Gabrielle  knew  that 
John  Faber  was  about  to  make  love  to  her.  It  came 
as  a  bolt  from  the  blue. 

"Why  should  I  go  to  Florida  in  your  yacht?  Do 
you  propose  to  take  Maryska  there?" 

"I  do  indeed — and  you  also !" 

"As  her  nurse,  I  suppose?" 

"No,  as  my  wife!" 

He  bent  forward  and  watched  her  closely.  She 
had  been  standing  by  the  piano,  the  aureole  of  the 
lamp  about  her  flaxen  hair,  making  pure  gold  of  its 
silken  threads.  For  an  instant  she  trembled  as  though 
some  strange  chord  of  her  nature  had  been  touched. 
Then,  very  slowly,  she  crossed  the  room  and  sat  in 
the  chair  upon  the  other  side  of  the  fireplace.  A  warm 
light  played  upon  her  young  face  now;  she  was,  in- 
deed, a  beautiful  woman. 

"Why  do  you  ask  me  to  be  your  wife  when  you 
know  I  am  engaged  to  Harry  Lassett?" 

"Because  I  believe  it  is  necessary  to  your  happi- 
ness and  mine." 

"Just  a  guess  at  reasons  then.  If  I  believed  it, 
I  would  say  it  is  a  want  of  compliment  to  me.  But  I 
don't  believe  it.  You  are  masterful  and  would  brush 
aside  all  obstacles.  If  I  were  not  a  woman  with  some 
faith  in  things,  you  would  do  so.  I  happen  to  be  that 
—perhaps  to  my  sorrow.  No,  indeed,  I  could  never 
be  your  wife  while  I  believe  in  the  reality  of  my  own 
life,  and  the  good  of  what  I  work  for.  Y^u  must 
know  how  very  far  apart  we  are." 

"In  what  are  we  apart  ?    In  causes  which  politicians 


OF  LOVE  BUT  NOT  OF  MARRIAGE     197 

quarrel  upon.  I  guess  that's  no  reason.  Does  a  man 
love  a  woman  the  less  because  she  believes  the  earth 
is  flat?  If  he's  a  fool — yes.  A  wise  man  says,  she  is 
only  a  woman,  and  loves  her  the  more.  Gabrielle,  I 
don't  care  a  cent  for  your  opinions,  but  I  want  you 
very  badly." 

She  sighed  heavily,  and  raised  herself  in  her  chair. 

"My  opinions  are  my  life,"  she  said  quietly.  "I 
have  built  a  temple  to  them  in  my  dreams.  How  it 
would  come  crashing  down  if  I  married  you!" 

"I'll  build  it,  anyway — it's  a  promise.  You  shall 
have  your  temple  if  it  costs  half  a  million.  They  won't 
miss  me  there  if  I  find  the  money.  I  shall  be  proud 
enough  of  my  wife  the  day  it  is  opened !" 

"Caring  nothing  that  she  could  only  speak  of 
money.  Oh,  don't  pursue  it;  don't,  don't!  All  my 
years  have  been  a  schooling  against  such  things  as 
are  dear  to  you.  There  are  a  hundred  interests  in  my 
life  I  have  never  dared  even  to  mention  to  you.  This 
home,  my  father's  work — do  they  not  say  'no'  for  me  ? 
I  should  be  a  burden  to  you  every  day;  you  would 
have  nothing  but  contempt  for  me." 

"If  a  man  were  fool  enough  to  base  his  unhappiness 
on  his  wife's  goodness — why,  yes.  Don't  you  see  that 
I  may  admire  all  this,  and  yet  differ  altogether? 
Isn't  it  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  ask  you  to  be  my 
wife,  that  I  know  how  much  reality  and  honest  faith 
lies  behind  all  you  do?  You  haven't  considered  that 
— you'll  have  to  before  it's  done  with.  I've  a  habit  of 
getting  my  way;  you'll  discover  it  before  I  am 
through !" 

The  taunt  turned  her  patience  to  defiance. 


198 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"No,"  she  said,  standing  up  as  if  impatient  of  it 
all,  "I  shall  discover  nothing,  Mr.  Faber.  I  intend 
to  marry  Harry  Lassett  in  February !" 

"Ah!  then  I'll  have  to  begin  upon  that  temple  at 
once.  Have  you  thought  about  the  plans  of  it?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Do  not  spoil  my  dreams — there  is  the  bell.  I 
think  it  must  be  Harry,  for  my  father  has  a  key." 

She  went  toward  the  door,  he  watching  every  step 
she  took.  Was  it  the  face  of  a  woman  going  to  meet 
her  lover,  the  face  of  an  ecstasy,  or  of  a  painter's 
dream?  The  prosaic  man  deemed  it  to  be  neither. 

And  yet  he  believed  that  she  would  marry  the  boy. 

II 

Gabrielle  believed  that  also,  but  it  was  a  vague 
thought,  floating  amid  a  medley  of  reproaches  and 
vain  longings. 

She  had  gone  to  her  bedroom  at  eleven  o'clock, 
when  the  night-nurse  came  on  duty,  and  the  quiet 
house  was  hushed  to  sleep;  and  there  she  sat  before 
a  great  fire  listening  to  the  footsteps  of  the  skaters  who 
passed  by,  or  the  chime  of  bells  upon  the  still  air. 

What  momentous  thing  was  this  which  had  hap- 
pened to  her  to-day — what  flood  of  fortune  which  had 
swept  by  and  left  her  to  a  woman's  reckoning?  Was 
it  not  the  thing  which  she  had  conceived  in  dreams 
most  sweet — the  hope  which  her  father  had  not  been 
ashamed  to  utter,  the  golden  shore  to  which  her  eyes 
had  been  turned  in  hours  of  vain  imagining?  In  a 
twinkling  the  gates  of  great  promise  had  been  opened 


OF  LOVE  BUT  NOT  OF  MARRIAGE     199 

for  her,  and  she  had  refused  to  enter  in.  A  word,  and 
all  the  power  and  place  of  money  would  have  been  at 
her  command.  She  had  been  silent — the  coach  of 
opportunity  had  rolled  by  and  left  her  alone. 

She  would  have  been  less  than  a  woman  if  some 
blunt  truths  had  not  emerged  from  this  labyrinth  of 
changing  ideas.  It  is  true  that  Faber  had  offered  to 
make  her  Maryska's  guardian,  an  obligation  she  was 
to  share  with  her  father  to  their  mutual  benefit.  No 
money  was  to  have  been  spared.  They  were  to  take 
a  great  house  in  London,  and  furnish  it  regardless 
of  cost.  The  gates  of  that  narrow  social  enclosure 
which  money  can  open  were  no  longer  to  be  barred  to 
them.  Luxury  of  every  kind  was  to  be  at  their  com- 
mand— but  all  as  recipients  of  a  comparative  stranger's 
benevolence,  and  as  the  servant  of  his  whims.  It 
would  be  different  as  his  wife,  for  these  things  would 
have  come  to  her  then  as  a  right. 

She  was  but  a  minister's  daughter,  but  these  are 
democratic  days,  when  money  builds  altars  whereat 
even  the  ancient  houses  worship.  Men  are  made  peers 
because  they  have  so  much  money  to  put  on  the  politi- 
cal counter,  or  were  famous  as  makers  of  jam  and 
vendors  of  good  provisions.  All  sorts  of  vulgar  per- 
sonages crowd  the  royal  precincts  and  wear  a  Wil- 
liam the  Conqueror  air,  most  ridiculous  to  see.  The 
old  titles  of  birth  and  breeding  are  hardly  recognised ; 
unrecognised  absolutely  where  women  are  concerned. 
Gabrielle  looked  at  herself  in  the  glass,  and  knew  that 
she  would  have  gone  far  in  this  latter-day  hurly-burly 
they  call  society.  She  had  all  the  gifts,  youth,  beauty, 
wit;  she  was  found  sympathetic  by  men  and  they 


200  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

were  her  slaves  whenever  she  appeared  among  them. 
She  could  have  built  a  social  temple,  and  there  would 
have  been  many  worshippers. 

And  for  what  had  all  this  been  put  aside  ?  For  the 
love  of  a  man,  or  for  the  trick  of  an  imagined  senti- 
ment? Harry  Lassett  made  a  purely  physical  appeal, 
but  she  was  hardly  aware  of  the  fact.  Faber  had  said 
that  she  was  drifting  into  the  marriage,  and  this  idea 
occurred  to  her  when  she  sat  alone  in  the  silence  of 
the  night.  The  years  had  conspired  to  bring  this  im- 
passe, from  which  there  was  no  escape  but  by  mar- 
riage. She  believed  that  the  opportunities  of  the  day 
would  not  recur,  or  if  they  did  recur,  that  she  must 
give  the  same  answer. 

He  would  build  her  temple  and  lay  the  first  stone, 
perhaps  upon  the  day  she  became  Harry  Lassett's  wife. 

Ill 

John  Faber  himself  had  thought  very  little  of  this 
wonderful  building  when  she  had  first  mentioned  it 
to  him;  but  the  idea  began  to  obsess  his  mind  as  he 
returned  to  his  hotel. 

To  say  that  he  was  greatly  impressed  by  Gabrielle's 
refusal  of  his  offer  is  to  express  his  feelings  upon  that 
matter  somewhat  crudely.  There  are  women's  moods 
which  hurt  a  man's  pride,  but  heal  it  as  quickly.  His 
early  astonishment  gave  place  anon  to  a  warm  admira- 
tion for  her  principles.  They  must  be  something  more 
than  mere  professions,  after  all,  and  were  so  real  that 
she  had  refused  one  of  the  biggest  fortunes  in  the 
world  because  of  them.  This  of  itself  was  a  consid- 


OF  LOVE  BUT  NOT  OF  MARRIAGE     201 

erable  fact  which  dwelt  in  his  mind.  He  had  discov- 
ered few  great  characters  in  the  course  of  his  busy  life, 
and  was  tempted  to  believe  that  Gabrielle  Silvester 
was  one  of  them. 

Her  passion  for  Harry  Lassett,  if  it  existed,  was  a 
more  difficult  matter.  The  man  of  forty,  who  has 
never  married,  is  prone  to  some  sentimentality  where 
calf  love  is  concerned.  Well  as  he  may  disguise  it 
from  the  world,  there  is  a  bias  towards  a  lover's  Ar- 
cady;  a  tenderness  for  the  secret  groves  which  he 
will  never  confess.  The  mere  man  goes  out  to  the 
witching  hour  of  the  young  life.  He  has  mad  mo- 
ments when  he  rages  against  his  lost  youth,  and  would 
regain  it,  even  at  the  cost  of  his  fortune.  One  suchi 
moment  Faber  himself  had  known  when  he  went  out 
with  Maryska  to  the  hills.  It  would  never  recur;  he 
had  mastered  it  wholly  even  before  they  returned  to 
Ragusa;  but  he  could  credit  Gabrielle  with  a  similar 
weakness,  and  wonder  how  far  it  would  wreck  her 
story.  Let  her  marry  Harry  Lassett,  and  the  first 
chapters  of  a  pitiful  tragedy  surely  were  written.  He 
was  quite  certain  of  that. 

With  this  was  some  new  estimate  of  his  own  posi- 
tion. He  could  be  no  hero  in  the  eyes  of  such  a 
woman.  From  that  standpoint  his  appeal  to  her  must 
be  quite  hopeless.  There  had  been  nothing  of  the  dash- 
ing cavalier  in  his  record,  nothing  but  the  mere 
amassing  of  money;  no  glamour,  no  public  applause. 
Women  like  all  that  and  forget  much  else  when  it 
is  there.  He  had  not  done  the  "great  good  thing" 
which  Maryska,  the  untutored  child,  had  promised  him 
he  might  do.  Was  it  too  late  even  yet?  This  temple 


202 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

he  would  build  at  Gabrielle's  bidding,  must  it  stand 
as  the  perpetual  witness  to  the  futility  of  his  own  at- 
tainments ? 

And  so,  finally,  and  merging  into  the  one  great 
thought  was  his  own  awakening  love  for  a  beautiful 
woman.  He  no  longer  doubted  this.  Admiration  was 
becoming  a  passion  of  desire,  which  might  lead  him  to 
strange  ends.  He  saw  her  as  she  sat  by  the  fireside, 
the  warm  light  upon  her  eloquent  face — he  heard  her 
sympathetic  voice,  watched  the  play  of  gesture,  the 
changing  but  ever-winning  expression.  He  would 
have  given  her  every  penny  he  had  in  the  world  that 
night  to  have  called  her  his  wife.  It  came  to  him  as 
an  obsession  that  he  could  not  live  without  her. 

For  thus  do  men  of  forty  love,  and  in  such  a  passion 
do  the  years  often  mock  them ! 


CHAPTER  III 

AFTER   TEN  DAYS 

I 

Bertie  Morris  was  a  man  who  rarely  knocked  upon 
any  doors,  and  certainly,  had  he  stooped  to  such  a 
weakness,  it  would  not  have  been  upon  the  door  of 
his  very  democratic  patron,  John  Faber,  who  was 
never  surprised  to  see  him  whatever  the  hour  or  the 
place. 

"So  it's  you,  my  boy !  I  thought  no  one  else  would 
butt  in  at  this  time  in  the  morning.  Well,  and  what 
brings  you  now?  I  thought  you  were  in  Portugal!" 

Bertie  Morris,  who  smoked  a  cigarette  which  had 
the  obliging  quality  of  rarely  being  alight,  sat  down 
by  his  friend's  bedside  and  thrust  his  felt  hat  still 
farther  upon  the  back  of  his  head. 

"Guess  I  came  over  last  night — the  hotel  clerk 
said  you  were  visiting.  Say,  I  must  have  a  talk  with 
you.  Benjamin  has  cabled  Paris  for  the  news,  and 
he's  got  to  have  it.  You  know  Benjamin,  sure !  Well, 
then,  you  know  what  you've  got  to  do." 

Faber  knew  Benjamin  Barnett  of  the  New  York 
Mitre  very  well,  but  the  process  of  "doing  it"  seemed 
to  amuse  him.  He  sat  up  in  bed  and  called  for  his 
man,  Frank,  who  had  been  brushing  his  clothes  in 
the  bathroom. 

203 


204 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"What  time  is  it,  Frank?" 

"A  quarter  past  nine,  sir." 

"Then  go  and  order  half  a  dozen  Bass's  ale  for 
Mr.  Morris,  and  bring  me  my  coffee." 

The  journalist  offered  no  objection  whatever  to  this 
drastic  prescription,  and  when  the  beer  was  brought, 
and  coffee,  with  hot-house  grapes  and  other  fine  fruit, 
had  been  set  at  the  bedside,  he  drained  a  glass  to  the 
dregs  and  then  spoke  up. 

"Benjamin  says  the  strike  on  their  side  is  going 
to  keep  wheat  out  of  England  for  a  month.  You're 
the  man  most  concerned  in  that,  for  a  word  from 
you  could  end  it.  It's  because  your  Charleston  people 
went  out  that  the  others  followed.  What  I'm  thinking 
is  that  you're  hoist  with  your  own  petard.  You  must 
tell  me  if  it's  true  or  false?" 

Faber  was  out  of  bed  by  this  time,  dressed  in  a 
wonderful  Japanese  kimono  which  gave  him  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  theatrical  mandarin.  He  was  always 
amused  by  Bertie  Morris,  and  generally  ready  to  help 
him.  Now,  however,  he  seemed  at  a  loss,  and  he 
walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out  before  he  gave 
him  any  answer  whatsoever. 

What  an  unfamiliar  spectacle  he  beheld  from  these 
high  windows  of  the  Savoy  Hotel!  The  River  gave 
promise  of  soon  being  frozen  from  bank  to  bank. 
Great  lumps  of  shining  ice  protruded  from  its  black 
face,  and  thousands  of  idlers  were  ready  to  play  in 
the  arena  this  memorable  winter  would  create  for 
them.  Far  away,  to  Westminster  and  beyond,  the 
scene  suffered  no  change,  the  river  of  ice  flashed  in 
the  wan  sunlight  of  the  bitter  day.  He  had  heard 


AFTER  TEN  DAYS  205 

yesterday  of  a  pageant  the  city  would  prepare,  and 
here  this  morning  were  the  outposts ;  jovial  men  who 
waited  to  prepare  the  theatre,  hew  down  the  hum- 
mocks, and  make  many  a  broken  path  straight.  An 
ox  would  be  roasted  whole  upon  the  Thames  to-mor- 
row, and  many  a  keg  of  good  beer  broached.  The 
citizens  themselves  watched  the  strange  scene  from  the 
banks  and  the  bridges,  thousands  of  them  in  black 
lines — well-to-do  and  ill-to-do ;  men  and  women  about 
whose  glowing  bodies  fortune  had  put  fair  furs; 
wretched  out-of-works  who  shivered  in  the  cold  and 
had  hardly  a  rag  to  cover  them.  Stress  of  weather 
could  break  many  a  barrier ;  there  would  be  little  caste 
in  England  when  a  few  weeks  had  run. 

Faber  regarded  the  scene  for  a  little  while  in  silence ; 
then  he  took  up  the  conversation  at  the  exact  point 
where  Morris  had  left  it. 

"Does  Benjamin  name  me  in  this?" 

"Be  sure  he  does ;  you're  the  marrow  of  it.  What's 
Faber  going  to  do  with  the  wheat  he's  cornered? 
That's  what  he  asks.  I  don't  suppose  you'll  tell  him, 
and  so  I  ask  also.  What  are  you  doing  in  corn  ?" 

"I'm  buying  it,  Bertie.  I  began  about  a  month  ago 
when  the  weather  first  did  stunts.  Of  course,  you 
don't  say  that.  For  Benjamin  the  news  is  that  I  hap- 
pen to  hold  a  number  of  steamers  at  Liverpool  and  in 
the  Thames,  and  that  the  men  on  strike  there  won't 

unload  them.  Say  I'm  a  d d  unlucky  man,  and 

leave  it  there." 

"I'll  do  that,  sure.  The  British  public  won't, 
though.  Guess  you're  out  for  a  big  scoop  this  time, 
John.  I'm  d d  if  you're  not  the  quickest  flier  I 


206  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

ever  saw  at  any  game  you  like.  Selling  it,  I  suppose 
to  the  philanthropic  agencies  ?  Is  that  the  line  ?  They 
pay  a  hundred  per  cent,  to  feed  the  hungry,  and  you 
look  on  and  bless  'em!  What  a  story  for  Benjamin? 
How  he  would  put  the  ginger  in !" 

"Dare  say  he  would.  I  know  Benjamin.  The  phil- 
anthropic agency  business  is  in  his  line.  He  met 
Miss  Silvester,  I  think,  when  she  was  over.  Does  he 
know  that  she's  at  the  head  of  this  good  Samaritan 
flare?  Has  he  heard  of  the  national  committee  with 
her  name  among  the  four  hundred?  I'd  say  some- 
thing about  that  if  I  were  you;  it's  the  'homes  of  the 
people'  lay,  and  goes  down  every  time." 

"I  don't  think — a  committee  for  feeding  the  people 
and  a  minister's  daughter  at  the  head  of  it.  Shall  I 
tell  'em  they  must  buy  the  corn  from  you  in  the  end 
at  a  forty  per  cent,  rise  ?  By  gosh !  that  laugh  would 
be  on  time,  anyway." 

"Why,  it  would,  certainly.  But  you  may  leave 
my  name  out  there.  Say  I  take  a  serious  view  of  the 
situation,  and  if  the  frost  holds,  I  look  for  something 
like  a  panic." 

"Then  you  don't  think  the  government  can  feed 
them  ?" 

"I  have  no  doubt  about  it  whatever.  If  you'll  come 
with  me  by  and  by,  I'll  show  you  such  scenes  in  Lon- 
don as  you  may  not  see  again  if  you  lived  the  lives 
of  your  great-great-grandchildren.  It's  war  and  no 
war.  When  some  fool  gets  up  and  cries  that  the 
Germans  are  sailing  from  Kiel  you'll  have  pandemo- 
nium. There's  sure  to  be  one  before  the  week  is  out. 
I  open  my  papers  every  morning  and  expect  to  read 


AFTER  TEN  DAYS 207 

the  news.  I  tell  you  we  are  going  to  see  something  and 
see  it  quick.  Let  Benjamin  understand  that.  I  don't 
suppose  you'll  forget  to  point  out  to  him  the  advan- 
tage of  having  such  a  brilliant  man  upon  the  spot. 
You  won't  be  backward  in  coming  forward,  my  boy." 

Bertie  assumed  a  meek  look  which  served  him  very 
well  upon  these  critical  occasions  when  he  interviewed 
a  great  personage  for  the  purpose  of  taking  away  his 
character.  A  pleasant  "I  don't  think"  was  his  only 
comment  upon  the  impertinence  of  the  observation; 
but  for  the  rest  even  his  conventional  imagination  was 
impressed.  John  Faber  was  not  the  man  to  be  wast- 
ing his  time  upon  mere  speculations.  When  he  in- 
dulged in  the  luxury  of  a  guess,  a  fortune  usually  lay 
at  the  back  of  it. 

"Are  you  meaning  to  say  that  there  is  any  real 
danger  of  this  same  invasion?"  he  asked  rather  tim- 
idly. "Benjamin  would  like  to  hear  you  about  that; 
you're  the  first  man  he'd  send  to  if  he  thought  the 
game  was  on.  Do  you  think  it  yourself,  now?" 

"I  think  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  Germans  are 
not  madmen.  They've  got  the  sanest  man  in  Europe 
at  their  head,  and  he  is  not  likely  to  do  stunts  with 
the  Gulf  Stream  holding  the  stakes.  What  the  Brit- 
isher has  got  to  fear  is  the  consequence  of  war  with- 
out its  actuality.  He's  had  that  to  fear  any  time  these 
ten  years.  Now  that  wheat  is  cornered,  and  the  ship- 
ping trade  has  fallen  foul  of  the  sailors,  there  is  a 
flesh  and  blood  bogey  behind  it.  By  gosh !  he's  fright- 
ened. I  know  it,  and  so  do  the  newspapers.  The 
Cabinet  met  last  night  and  the  King  sent  for  Kitchener 
afterwards.  They  know  there  where  the  shoe  pinches, 


208 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

and  they  see  other  bogeys.  Let  this  frost  hold,  let 
hunger  get  a  grip  on  the  people  over  yonder,  and  there 
isn't  an  institution  in  Great  Britain  which  will  last  a 
week.  You  can  tell  Benjamin  as  much,  though  there's 
no  need  to  say  I  said  it." 

He  had  become  unusually  serious,  pacing  the  room 
while  he  talked,  and  often  looking  out  at  the  frozen 
river.  Shrewd  interviewer  that  Morris  was  and  blessed 
with  an  excellent  memory,  nevertheless  these  things 
were  big  enough  to  be  made  a  note  of  on  the  spot, 
and  he  took  paper  and  pen  for  the  purpose.  That 
was  the  moment,  however,  when  a  servant  came  in 
to  announce  Mr.  Rupert  Trevelle,  and  immediately 
afterwards  Faber  fell  to  earnest  talk  with  this  famous 
diplomatist  who  was  Sir  Jules's  right  hand.  There 
was  nothing  left  for  the  journalist  to  do  but  to  drink 
up  the  beer — a  task  he  performed  with  alacrity. 

To  be  sure,  his  curiosity  was  provoked  not  a  little 
by  the  vivacity  of  the  talk  to  which  he  listened,  and 
when  a  little  later  on  Faber  apologised  for  taking  his 
guest  into  the  adjoining  room  to  discuss  some  private 
business,  the  journalist  prevailed  against  the  man,  and 
stooped  without  hesitation  to  the  methods  of  Mary 
Jane.  Bertie's  ear  fitted  the  keyhole  very  well,  and 
he  did  not  mind  the  draught  overmuch.  What  he 
heard  seemed  to  interest  him  very  much.  And  the 
greater  merit  of  it  was  that  it  had  not  been  told  him 
in  confidence. 

II 

The  three  men  left  the  hotel  in  a  private  car  some 
hour  and  a  half  later,  and  told  the  driver  to  go  past 


AFTER  TEN  DAYS  209 

Aldgate  to  Commercial  Road  East.  They  all  wore 
heavy  fur  coats  and  were  put  in  good  spirits  by  the 
vigour  of  the  day  and  the  stillness  of  the  frosty  air. 
London  looked  her  best  that  morning.  The  whiteness 
of  her  roofs,  the  iron  hardness  of  her  roads,  blue  sky 
above  and  a  kindly  sunshine  to  make  a  rare  spectacle 
of  the  gathered  snow — never  had  she  worn  a  fairer 
aspect.  Even  the  Americans  felt  at  home  and  needed 
but  a  blizzard  to  deceive  them  utterly. 

The  cheerful  aspect  of  London  chiefly  impressed 
the  imagination  of  the  people  in  the  West  End  at  this 
time  and  they  had  got  little  beyond  it  at  this  stage. 
They  talked  in  the  clubs  of  the  newspaper  canards 
and  pooh-poohed  them.  It  was  true  that  the  rivers 
.were  frozen,  but  it  was  ridiculous  to  suppose  that  the 
severity  of  the  frost  would  endure.  As  to  the  food- 
supply,  what  did  it  matter  to  men  who  could  order  a 
sole  a  la  Victoria  or  a  tournedo  without  causing  the 
club  steward  to  lift  an  eyelid?  The  frost  was  phe- 
nomenal, but  it  would  in  due  course  be  followed  by  a 
thaw.  Meanwhile,  those  d d  bakers  were  charg- 
ing a  shilling  a  loaf,  and  making  a  fortune  by  other 
people's  necessities.  It  was  a  scandal  with  which  any 
but  an  incompetent  Radical  government  would  have 
known  how  to  deal. 

Such  a  pleasant  way  of  regarding  things  was  uni- 
versal through  the  West  End,  where  business  went 
on  much  as  usual,  and  only  the  newspapers  displayed 
the  vulgarity  of  agitation.  It  is  true  that  the  cold 
caused  a  seeming  bustle  upon  the  pavements;  but  this 
was  merely  the  cold,  and  the  old  gentlemen,  who  trot- 
ted vigorously  where  yesterday  they  walked,  were  not 


210 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

driven  to  such  antics  by  the  bakers,  but  by  the  bit- 
terness of  the  weather.  Not  until  the  car  had  carried 
the  three  men  past  Aldgate  Station  to  the  junction  of 
the  Commercial  Road,  was  there  any  evidence  what- 
ever of  that  menacing  spectre  the  wise  men  had 
dreaded.  Then  it  came  upon  them  without  warning — 
a  procession  of  the  social  derelicts  with  a  red  flag 
for  their  banner. 

"Hallo,  now! — and  what  do  you  call  this?"  Faber 
asked,  as  the  car  came  to  a  standstill  and  the  mob 
pressed  about  it.  "Is  this  a  dime  show,  and  do  we 
get  you?" 

Trevelle,  a  little  shaken  by  the  attentions  of  his 
neighbours,  who  had  climbed  upon  the  footboard  to 
look  at  him,  declared  that  they  were  the  "out-of- 
works." 

"Just  one  of  the  usual  January  processions — I  ex- 
pect we  shall  see  a  good  many  before  we  are  through." 

"I  guess  they  look  ugly,  anyway — see  that  fellow 
with  the  lantern  jaw  and  the  club?  It  will  want  a 
pretty  big  baker  to  stop  him  if  he's  hungry!" 

"We  are  stopping  him  by  food — the  government 
must  help  us." 

"And  buy  Faber's  corn?"  chimed  in  Morris,  "he's 
about  two  or  three  hundred  cargoes  to  sell — at  a  price," 
and  he  laughed  as  though  it  were  the  finest  of  jokes. 
Trevelle,  however,  was  too  busy  with  his  neighbour 
on  the  footboard  to  say  anything  at  all.  A  swarthy 
ruffian  with  a  ragged  crimson  tie  had  grabbed  at  his 
watch  and  chain,  and  discovered  a  fifteen  shilling 
enamelled  timepiece,  which  annoyed  him. 

"A  fine  gentleman,  you  are — I  don't  fink!" 


AFTER  TEN  DAYS 


and  he  went  off,  rattling  the  money-box,  which  he  had 
dropped  for  the  purpose  of  this  assault. 

It  was  an  aggressive  procession  —  long,  disorganized, 
revolting  in  aspect.  Men  of  all  ages  had  set  out  upon 
the  long  march  to  Trafalgar  Square,  where  they  would 
demand  of  the  government  work  or  bread.  You  may 
see  the  same  any  winter;  but  this  winter  of  surpassing 
cold  had  given  the  wolf's  jowl  to  many  who  were 
pleasant-  faced  without  it,  and  the  fire  of  hunger  shone 
from  many  eyes.  A  few  girls  of  brazen  mien  walked 
by  the  ragged  coats  and  occasionally  danced  a  few 
steps  to  keep  themselves  warm.  With  them  went 
grandfathers  and  grandsons;  old  men,  whose  backs 
were  bent  by  the  labours  of  distant  years;  mere  lads 
looking  for  a  row  with  the  "coppers." 

"What  do  those  fellows  think  they  will  <Io?"  Faber 
asked  of  Trevelle.  He  had  seen  the  same  kind  of 
thing  in  his  own  country  —  but  there,  as  he  put  it,  the 
club  of  the  policeman  was  more  powerful  than  the 
brotherhood  of  man.  Trevelle  admitted  that  it  was 
so.  He  had  been  three  days  in  New  York.  There- 
fore, he  knew  it  must  be  so. 

"If  the  frost  holds,  they  will  loot  the  shops.  They've 
done  it  before  with  an  embryo  Cabinet  Minister  to  lead 
them.  I  tell  my  journalistic  friends  that  they  are 
going  to  do  a  finer  thing  than  they  have  ever  done 
before  —  they  are  going  to  help  the  mob  to  loot  Bond 
Street.  We  are  on  the  top  of  a  volcano  ;  we  have  been 
really,  for  twenty  years.  The  wonder  is  that  we  have 
never  discovered  it  before." 

"Meaning  to  say  that  the  volcano  is  now  about 
to  take  a  hand  in  it!  Well,  Bertie  here  will  be  on 


SWORDS  RELUCTANT 


the  spot  if  there's  any  looting  to  be  done.  I  guess 
the  side-track  won't  see  much  of  him." 

Morris  was  rather  flattered. 

"I  was  up  among  the  lakes  one  winter,"  he  said, 
"and  I  saw  the  wolves  pull  down  a  buck.  He  came 
out  of  the  woods  like  a  race-horse  on  the  straight. 
There  were  twenty  snarling  devils  at  his  heels,  and 
they  had  eyes  like  live  coals.  Presently  one  jumped 
at  the  buck's  throat,  and  you  could  not  have  struck  a 
match  before  the  others  had  fixed  their  teeth  in  him. 
He  bleated  for  about  two  minutes;  then  he  was  so 
many  gnawed  bones  on  the  ice.  Well,  that's  what  I 
think  of  the  social  system  sometimes.  Let  the  cold 
get  a  cinch  on  those  particular  wolves,  and  you'll 
count  some  bones  !  It  has  got  to  be  —  hunger  is  going 
to  make  it  so  !" 

No  one  contradicted  him,  for  the  scenes  on  the  side- 
walk were  too  engrossing.  All  Whitechapel  appeared 
to  be  abroad  that  day  as  though  curiosity  drove  it 
out  of  the  mean  houses.  Wan  women  stood  at  their 
doors  seeking  vainly  for  some  tidings  which  should 
be  carried  to  the  famished  children  within.  Hulking 
labourers  took  their  leisure  with  their  broad  backs 
supported  by  friendly  posts.  Paradoxical  as  the  thing 
seemed,  the  public-houses  were  beset  by  fierce  mobs 
of  ruffians,  both  sexes  being  fairly  represented  in  the 
melee.  By  here  and  there  some  anxious  philanthropist 
in  a  black  coat  moved  amid  the  throngs,  and  spoke 
words  of  good  cheer  to  all.  There  were  ministers  of 
religion  whose  faith  knew  nothing  of  new  theology 
but  much  of  bread. 

Through  this  press,  by  many  a  filthy  street,  the  car 


AFTER  TEN  DAYS  213 

conveyed  the  strangers  to  their  destination.  This  lay 
some  way  down  the  Commercial  Road  and  was  of- 
ficially in  Stepney.  Long  before  they  reached  it,  the 
increasing  throngs  spoke  of  its  whereabouts.  A  vast 
mob  of  the  hungry,  the  homeless,  and  the  desperate 
strove  to  reach  a  square-fronted  building  over  whose 
doors  were  written  in  golden  letters  the  words  "The 
Temple."  A  shabby  structure  of  dull  red  brick,  this 
day  it  had  become  a  house  of  salvation  to  the  multi- 
tude. And  high  above  them,  upon  the  topmost  step 
of  a  stairway  which  led  to  its  unadorned  halls,  stood 
Gabrielle  Silvester  speaking  to  the  people. 

She  was  dressed  from  head  to  foot  in  grey  furs, 
and  her  flaxen  hair  showed  golden  beneath  the  round 
cap  of  silver-fox  which  crowned  it.  The  excitement 
of  her  task  had  brought  a  rich  flood  of  colour  to  her 
round  girlish  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  were  wonderfully 
bright.  The  nation's  tragedy  had  dowered  her  with  a 
rare  part,  and  finely  she  played  it.  All  this  publicity, 
this  movement,  this  notoriety  of  charity  was  life  to 
her.  She  worked  with  a  method  and  an  energy  which 
surprised  even  her  most  intimate  friends.  In  Stepney 
they  had  come  to  call  her  "Princess  Charming" — a 
title  taken  from  their  halfpenny  stories  and  apt  for 
them.  Whenever  she  drove,  men  doffed  their  caps, 
while  the  eyes  of  the  women  filled  with  tears.  This 
very  day  she  was  feeding  the  people  even  as  Christ, 
her  Master,  had  fed  them.  And,  looking  on  with  new 
wonder  and  pleasure,  was  the  man  who  knew  that 
she  was  necessary  to  him — she  and  none  other. 

The  car  came  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  Temple 
and  then  was  held  up  by  the  press.  Faber  called  a 


214.  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

sergeant  of  police,  and  slipped  a  sovereign  into  his 
hand. 

"Get  us  up  to  the  door  and  there's  another,"  he 
said,  and  immediately  five  sturdy  policemen  drove  a 
way  through  the  hungry  throngs  with  shoulders  hard- 
ened by  such  tasks.  The  car  followed  them  slowly, 
and  as  it  went  Faber  threw  silver  among  the  people.  It 
was  a  mad  act,  for  they  fell  upon  it  like  wolves,  and 
when  the  police  had  quelled  the  riot,  two  of  those  who 
had  come  to  the  Temple  for  bread  lay  stark  dead  upon 
the  pavement. 

Ill 

There  were  two  long  counters  running  down  the 
centre  of  the  Temple,  and  between  them  lay  piles  of 
new  crisp  loaves.  Many  servers  handed  them  out 
to  whoever  asked  for  them,  and  continued  so  to  do 
until  the  day's  supply  was  exhausted.  It  was  a  study 
to  watch  the  faces  of  those  who  came  for  relief — 
cunning  faces,  pitiful  faces,  the  faces  of  mean  desire. 
Some  of  these  people  would  go  out  with  their  bread 
and  return  immediately  for  more,  trusting  to  the  press 
to  remain  undiscovered.  Others  were  given  to  wild 
words  of  thanks ;  but  these  were  few,  and  in  the  main 
it  would  seem  that  natural  greed  dominated  other 
thoughts. 

Gabrielle  shook  hands  with  Faber  a  little  coldly; 
her  manner  toward  Trevelle  was  cordial;  she  hardly 
noticed  Bertie  Morris.  A  habit  of  authority  is  easily 
assumed  by  some  women,  and  it  sat  upon  her  grace- 
fully. With  unfailing  dignity,  she  moved  amid  her 


AFTER  TEN  DAYS  215 

assistants,  directing,  criticising,  applauding  them. 
When  the  mere  man  ventured  a  word  of  suggestion, 
he  perceived  very  plainly  that  he  was  no  hero  in  her 
eyes. 

"Why,"  Faber  remarked,  "have  you  nothing  in 
the  ticket  line  ?  Do  they  all  come  in  here  on  the  nod  ?" 

"Absolutely.     Why  should  we  have  tickets  ?" 

"Well,  I've  seen  one  old  woman  stow  away  five 
loaves  since  I  came  in.  Is  that  your  idea  of  it?" 

"Oh,  we  can't  stoop  to  trifles.  And  we  have  so 
much  to  give  away.  Mr.  Trevelle  is  so  wonderful. 
He  has  done  a  beautiful  thing." 

"A  good  collector,  eh?    So  he's  doing  it  all?" 

"Indeed,  and  he  is.  It  would  not  last  a  day  with- 
out him.  We  are  coming  to  a  time  when  the  others 
will  have  no  bread  to  give  away.  He  says  that  we 
can  go  on  for  weeks  and  weeks." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder.  Trevelle  is  a  bit  of  a  hustler, 
anyway.  I  suppose  you've  no  time  to  tell  me  the 
news?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  almost  impatient  of 
the  mere  cynic  who  could  watch  all  this  and  say  noth- 
ing in  its  favour. 

"She  is  much  better — of  course,  you  are  thinking 
of  Maryska?  I  don't  think  she  wishes  to  go  to  Italy 
now." 

"Then  you  will  take  that  house  we  spoke  of?" 

"I  will  talk  to  you  about  it  when  all  this  is  over. 
If  you  could  only  live  a  few  weeks  among  these  peo- 
ple !  And  they  say  it  is  but  the  beginning.  There  will 
be  downright  starvation  soon.  Thousands  dying  in 
the  very  streets." 


216  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"Just  because  God  Almighty  has  sent  an  extra  turn 
of  winter.  Well,  you  are  doing  fine  things,  anyway. 
This  is  better  than  the  Temple  we  spoke  of." 

"Why  is  it  better?" 

"Because  there  are  brains  behind  it.  They  are  the 
only  things  which  count  in  the  story  of  great  causes 
— brains  and  money.  I  put  them  in  their  proper 
order." 

"Ah!"  she  exclaimed;  "of  course  you  think  of  the 
money." 

"How  can  I  help  it  ?  What  is  feeding  these  people  ? 
Bread !  But  you  don't  buy  bread  with  a  stone." 

She  smiled. 

"There  will  be  always  money  for  those  who  really 
suffer.  I  count  upon  Mr.  Trevelle  for  all  that.  He 
is  a  miracle." 

And  then  she  said: 

"I  suppose  he  has  begged  of  you?" 

He  brushed  the  question  aside. 

"Trevelle  knows  me  better.  You  don't  come  to  rich 
men  unless  you  have  a  proposition.  What  are  all  these 
people  to  me?  I  didn't  starve  them,  anyway.  Why 
should  I  give  them  money?" 

She  thought  him  quite  brutal,  and  went  away 
presently  to  speak  to  some  of  "her  guests,"  who  had 
nearly  fallen  to  blows  on  the  far  side  of  the  hall.  The 
heaps  of  bread  were  vanishing  at  an  alarming  rate, 
and  the  sea  of  faces  beyond  the  doors  of  the  building 
declared  its  tragedies  of  want  and  hope.  In  many 
a  street  in  Stepney  and  Whitechapel  that  day  the 
bakers  had  no  bread  to  sell.  Men  told  you  that  the 
government  were  at  grips  with  the  affair,  but  could 


AFTER  TEN  DAYS 217 

any  government  compel  men  to  work  when  they  had 
the  mind  to  be  idle?  A  panic  of  threatened  starva- 
tion drove  the  women  to  frenzy — the  men  to  oaths. 
There  is  always  hope  in  the  meanest  house ;  but  there 
could  be  no  hope  if  this  frost  endured  and  England 
were  paralysed  by  strikes.  So  they  fought  for  the 
gifts  of  the  Temple,  the  strong  triumphant,  the  weak 
to  the  wall. 

"Guess  you  will  have  to  lay  on  those  tickets,"  Faber 
said  to  her  when  next  she  came  round  to  his  side  of 
the  room.  She  listened,  now  impressed  by  the  reason 
of  it. 

"We  could  feed  ten  times  the  number,"  she  said — • 
"it  is  awful  to  turn  them  away !" 

"Why  not  take  your  Temple  across  the  road?  I 
saw  an  empty  factory  as  I  came  along ;  rent  that,  and 
see  that  each  man  and  woman  comes  but  once  a  day. 
Trevelle  will  do  it  for  you." 

She  said  that  it  must  be  done,  and  went  away  to 
speak  to  the  unwearying  aide-de-camp  about  it.  Later 
on,  with  hardly  another  word  to  him,  Faber  saw  her 
enter  a  plain  hired  carriage  and  drive  off  through  the 
streets,  followed  by  a  howling  mob  whose  moods  were 
twain:  gratitude  on  the  part  of  some,  rage  and  dis- 
appointment of  others.  She  was  going  down  to  Le- 
man  Street  to  the  children's  institute  there,  Trevelle 
said;  but  he  did  not  suggest  that  they  should  follow 
her. 

"By  the  lord  Harry!  you've  let  me  in  for  some- 
thing!" he  protested,  mopping  a  perspiring  face  when 
Gabrielle  had  gone.  Faber  replied  that  he  would  let 
him  in  for  a  good  deal  more  yet. 


818 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"Anyway,  you're  a  hero  in  her  eyes,"  he  said — and 
as  he  said  it,  he  reflected  once  more  upon  the  meaning 
of  that  quality  to  women,  and  how  far  he  seemed. 
from  its  possession  where  they  were  concerned. 


CHAPTER   IV 


CINDERELLA 


Gordon  Silvester's  mission  to  the  East,  as  he  would 
call  his  work  beyond  Aldgate,  was  really  a  charity  of 
ten  years'  standing,  and  one  that  often  proved  a  thorn 
in  the  flesh  to  Gabrielle,  who,  at  heart,  had  no  great 
love  for  poor  people. 

When  the  memorable  winter  came,  it  was  a  natural 
thing  to  use  the  resources  of  this  mission  for  the  pur- 
poses of  that  undiscriminating  charity  the  season  re- 
quired; and  so  we  had  the  Temple  (suggested  by 
Rupert  Trevelle  and  other  organizations  not  less  use- 
ful). Silvester  himself  went  into  this  work  with  the 
ardour  of  a  man  of  twenty.  His  sermons  at  Hamp- 
stead  were  masterpieces  of  eloquence;  his  labours  at 
Stepney  would  have  wearied  a  giant.  The  national 
necessity  demanded  heroism — there  will  always  be 
many  in  England  to  answer  such  a  call  when  it  comes. 

Gabrielle  herself  had  been  handicapped  somewhat 
by  Maryska's  illness;  but  the  child  responded  quickly 
to  the  devoted  care  bestowed  upon  her,  and  youth 
emerged  triumphant.  Her  every  whim  gratified,  as 
Faber  dictated,  she  was  nevertheless  often  alone  in  the 

219 


220  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

little  house  now,  and  many  were  the  solitary  hours 
she  spent  there.  Harry  Lassett  alone  saved  her  from 
despair;  and  so  much  did  she  come  to  rely  upon  him, 
that  she  would  send  a  note  round  by  hook  or  by  crook 
whenever  Gabrielle  went  out,  and  sometimes  when  she 
was  at  home. 

One  of  these  letters  went  up  the  fifth  morning  after 
Faber's  visit  to  the  Temple.  Silvester  was  to  address 
a  big  meeting  at  the  Mansion  House  upon  that  day, 
and  Gabrielle  to  open  the  factory  as  a  second  centre 
for  the  distribution  of  bread.  Maryska,  who  heard 
with  impatience  all  this  talk  of  things  she  failed  utterly 
to  understand,  sulked  for  an  hour  in  the  lonely  house, 
and  then  dispatched  a  letter  by  a  friendly  butcher  to 
Harry's  rooms,  near  the  Holly  Bush  Inn.  To  her  great 
joy,  he  came  at  once,  wrapped  in  a  monstrous  fur  coat 
and  evidently  amiable.  This  little  waif  from  the  un- 
known was  already  growing  into  his  life,  though  he 
would  have  been  angry  had  his  oldest  friend  told  him 
as  much. 

"Hallo,  little  Gipsy! — and  what's  up  this  morn- 
ing?" he  asked,  as  he  came  like  a  great  bear  into 
Silvester's  puny  dining-room.  "Gipsy"  was  his  favour- 
ite name  for  her,  and  she  liked  it  well  enough. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  "they've  all  gone  praying  again, 
Harry — they're  not  fed  up  with  it,  even  yet!  I'm 

sick  of  this  house !  Oh !  I'm  d d  sick  of  it,  Harry. 

Won't  you  take  me  out?" 

He  always  laughed  at  this  trick  of  strong  expres- 
sion, caught  by  the  child  from  a  Bohemian  father ;  an 
anathema  to  Gabrielle  and  the  Reverend  Gordon. 
Harry  rather  liked  it,  for  it  seemed  to  him  somehow 


CINDERELLA 


that  he  was  talking  to  a  man  when  he  and  Maryska 
were  alone  together. 

"Why,  Gipsy!"  he  cried,  taking  both  her  hands, 
"you  do  look  blue,  upon  my  word!  Where  do  you 
want  to  go  to  now?  Where  shall  I  take  you  if  we 
have  a  spree?" 

She  thought  upon  it  with  a  quick  and  serious  glance 
aside. 

"To  a  cafe!"  she  said  at  length.  "Let  us  go  and 
eat  bouillabaisse  at  a  cafe!  He  always  did  when  the 
drawing  had  tired  him.  Let  us  melt  the  old  pot,  and 
drink  it — that's  what  he  used  to  say!" 

"But,  Maryska!    If  I  haven't  got  any  money?" 

She  laughed  at  that. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  "I've  got  lots!  Here's  a  whole 
bank-note.  Cannot  we  buy  bouillabaisse  with  that, 
Harry?" 

Harry  took  the  bank-note  and  perceived  with  aston- 
ishment that  it  was  for  no  less  a  sum  than  one  hun- 
dred pounds. 

"Guess  Papa  Faber  gave  you  this,  now,  didn't  he? 
Generous  old  daddy,  too.  Have  you  seen  him  lately, 
Gipsy?" 

She  was  a  little  troubled  by  his  question. 

"He  came — it  would  be  many  days  ago.  He  is 
going  to  take  me  back  to  Italy.  Why  do  you  say  he 
is  generous  ?  Was  he  not  his  friend  ?' 

"Do  you  mean  your  father's?  Well,  but  we  don't 
always  give  a  lot  of  money  to  the  daughters  of  our 
friends — not  in  this  country,  anyway!  You  ought  to 
think  yourself  very  lucky,  Maryska!" 

She  did  not  understand  that. 


222  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"He  is  very  old,"  she  said.  "Once  I  thought  that 
he  looked  at  me  as  other  men  do — as  you  do  some- 
times, Harry !  It  was  when  I  first  saw  him  at  Ragusa. 
Then  it  became  different!  He  took  us  to  Ranovica, 
and  I  saw  dreadful  things.  Jesus  Christ,  what  things 
I  saw!  Oh!  if  you  had  known — but  I  try  to  forget 
them  now.  He  would  wish  that — he  never  let  me 
speak  of  yesterday." 

Her  eyes  were  very  wide  open  and  shining;  the 
expressive  face  spoke  of  woe  most  piteous.  And  this 
memory  of  suffering  affected  the  boy  also,  destitute  of 
sentiment  as  he  was  in  a  general  way.  He  stooped 
suddenly  and  kissed  her  warm  lips. 

"Never  mind,  Gipsy  dear !  You've  got  some  jolly 
good  friends,  and  old  Papa  Faber  will  see  you  through. 
I  know  he  means  to,  for  Gabrielle  told  me  so.  Just 
think  of  it ! ;  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  world  your 
godfather!  Aren't  you  in  luck?" 

She  smiled.  Money,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  had  been 
Louis  de  Paleologue's  gospel;  how  could  she  for- 
get it? 

"He's  in  love  with  Gabrielle,"  she  said,  making  no 
shadow  of  a  resistance  to  his  kisses,  but  rather  lifting 
her  lips  to  his,  "I  know  it,  and  so  does  she!  Why 
aren't  you  angry  with  them,  Harry — don't  you  care? 
Doesn't  it  make  any  difference  to  you  ?" 

"Oh,"  he  said  with  just  a  touch  of  hardness  in  his 
voice,  "I'm  not  going  to  be  jealous  of  an  old  bounder 
like  that.  He's  old  enough  to  be  her  father.  Let's 
go  and  spend  some  of  your  money,  Maryska.  Does 
the  doctor  say  you  may  go?" 

She  made  a  wry  grimace. 


CINDERELLA  223 


"He  used  to  say  doctors  were But  no,  I  mustn't 

tell  you,  I  hate  them!  How  can  they  know  what's 
inside  us  and  why  we  feel  it?  Of  course  I  shall  go! 
Why  are  you  such  a  fool  ?" 

He  gave  way  with  a  shrug,  and  she  went  up  to  get 
her  furs.  It  was  a  clear  day  with  little  wind  and  a 
fine  red  sun.  The  frost  had  not  broken,  and  these 
two  went  down  toward  a  city  over  which  loomed  the 
menace  of  a  peril  terrible  beyond  imagination.  But 
of  this  the  suburbs  said  nothing.  Here  and  there  a 
baker  would  have  a  flaring  bill  in  his  window;  there 
were  advertisements  and  appeals  upon  some  of  the 
hoardings,  but  few  stopped  to  read  them.  Such  idlers 
as  gathered  at  the  street  corners  had  long  exhausted 
the  only  topic  of  conversation  and  smoked  in  silence 
when  they  did  not  beg  in  companies.  "Bread,  for  the 
love  of  God!"  was  the  chant  of  gangs  of  impostors 
whose  corduroys  were  no  ornament  to  streets  of  red 
brick.  'Buses,  trams  and  taxis  seemed  quite  unaware, 
of  a  crisis.  The  newspapers  alone  were  hysterical. 
They  were  covered  with  flaring  black  headlines. 

Harry  had  engaged  a  taxi,  and  he  took  her  for  a 
drive  round  Hyde  Park  before  going  on  to  the  Savoy 
Cafe  for  luncheon.  There  were  a  few  horsemen  in  the 
Row,  but  they  looked  cold  enough,  and  Maryska,  who 
had  seen  the  Italian  cavalry  ride,  thought  but  little 
of  their  performance.  For  the  most  part,  the  big 
houses  in  the  West  End  were  left  to  Jeames  and  his 
humours.  It  would  have  been  unfair  to  the  owners 
of  these  to  say  that  panic  had  driven  them  away.  They 
were  just  wintering  at  Cannes  or  Monte  or  Aix  as  they 
always  did.  Out  there,  the  news  from  England  seemed 


SWORDS  RELUCTANT 


very  dubious  ;  it  was  almost  impossible  to  believe  that 
such  consequences  had  attended  the  severity  of  the 
winter.  Here  in  Western  London,  the  intensity  of  the 
cold,  the  relentless  winds,  the  bitter  weather  taught 
men  to  incline  an  ear  to  every  rumour.  Perhaps  even 
the  sanest  critic  experienced  a  new  sensation  when  he 
stood  apart  and  asked  himself  if  it  were  true  that  the 
sea  might  freeze  from  Calais  to  Dover.  A  menace  of 
an  unknown  peril  troubled  all;  the  East  End  alone 
gave  tongue  to  it. 

They  went  down  St.  James'  Street  and  turned  into 
Pall  Mall.  Here  their  taxi  was  held  up  by  a  howling 
mob,  indulging  in  the  ancient  and  amusing  pastime 
of  breaking  the  windows  of  the  clubs.  Did  a  politician 
as  much  as  show  a  nose  at  a  window-pane  and  a 
shower  of  stones  rewarded  long  years  of  salaried  la- 
bour or  unfeed  eloquence.  Was  he  not  one  of  those 
who  pocketed  the  profits  the  bakers  were  making?  — 
and  if  he  did  not,  was  he  not,  at  any  rate,  "capital  in 
a  black  coat";  and  where  would  you  have  a  better 
target?  The  hulking  youths,  who  rattled  their  money- 
boxes offensively  in  every  face,  cared  much  about  beer 
and  little  about  bread,  but  that  little  had  become  rather 
a  grim  reality  these  later  days.  They  saw  men,  and, 
women,  too,  dying,  down  East  of  absolute  starvation  — 
the  ghosts  of  the  "might  be"  stood  at  their  elbow  and 
whispered  "Better  the  jewellers'  shops  than  the  mortu- 
aries." And  to  Bond  Street  they  went,  adding  to  their 
numbers  quickly  and  uttering  bolder  threats.  "Bread 
or  death!"  An  odour  of  beer  was  the  incense  to  this 
prayer. 

Maryska  regarded  these  gangs  of  loafers  with  in- 


CINDERELLA  225 


quiring  eyes.  She  had  seen  nothing  of  the  kind  in  any 
country,  and  they  excited  her  contempt.  When  she 
asked  Harry  why  none  of  them  carried  guns,  his 
laughter  seemed  to  her  quite  silly. 

"The  police  would  never  let  them  do  that  in  Aus- 
tria," she  said  emphatically.  "Each  side  would  have 
guns  and  they  would  kill  each  other.  The  English  are 
afraid,  I  think.  They  should  not  let  such  people  be  in 
London." 

"But,  Gipsy,  don't  you  know  this  winter  is  killing 
them  by  thousands  ?  Haven't  you  read  it  in  the  news- 
papers ?" 

"Oh!"  she  said.  "He  would  never  believe  what 
was  in  the  newspapers.  He  said  it  was — but  you 
would  be  angry.  Are  we  going  to  have  bouillabaisse 
soon?  I  am  dreadfully  hungry;  I  could  eat  a  man, 
truly  I  could." 

"Then  I  mustn't  take  you  where  any  man  is.  This 
is  the  Strand,  the  place  a  lot  of  your  people  come  to. 
Do  you  see  that  sign  over  yonder?  We  are  going 
to  eat  there." 

"But,  Harry,  it's  a  tailor  shop!  Oh,  you  little 
beast !  You  would  not  take  me  to  a  tailor's  shop  ?  You 
can't  mean  to  take  me  there !" 

"Cheer  up!"  he  said,  squeezing  her  arm,  "they  cut 
very  well,"  and  so  they  drove  into  the  courtyard,  and 
seeing  the  actresses  in  weird  furs  at  the  door  of  the 
cafe,  Maryska  leaped  down  from  the  taxi  and  laughed 
with  pleasure. 

"I  could  kiss  you  if  it  were  English,"  she  said. 

Evidently  she  was  of  the  opinion  that  it  was  not 
English,  and  so  no  more  on  that  point  was  said. 


226 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

II 

Her  idea  was  still  a  cafe  chantant,  and  the  Savoy 
met  it  badly. 

She  had  seen  a  number  of  well-dressed  women  in 
Berlin,  in  Madrid,  and  in  Paris ;  but  these,  apparently, 
had  belonged  to  the  undesirable  classes,  and  she  could 
hardly  believe  that  any  showy  creature  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  ancient  hospice  of  the  Fratres  de 
Monte  Jovis — a  fraternity  unknown,  may  be,  to  the 
courtly  Gustave — could  be  of  any  other  kidney. 
Twenty  times  during  the  elegant  repast  must  Harry 
say,  "Do  shut  up,  Gipsy !"  and  as  often  must  her  eyes 
express  wonder.  What  had  she  done  ? 

There  were  odd  moments  when  the  mere  girl  in 
her  came  out  with  a  bang,  and  the  boy  blushed  up 
to  his  ears.  She  laughed  uproariously  at  two  waiters 
who  cannoned  each  other  off  the  soup,  and  when  a 
clumsy  fellow  dropped  her  box  of  chocolates  on  the 
floor,  she  was  after  it  in  a  twinkling  and  down  on  her 
paws  like  a  cat.  This  was  a  depressing  interlude 
which  alarmed  her  conventional  cavalier.  Harry  hated 
"scenes"  with  the  distaste  habitual  to  the  Englishman 
of  strait  laced  manners. 

He  forbade  her  to  smoke,  moreover,  and  that  was  a 
grievance.  She  had  smoked  cigarettes  since  she  could 
remember  anything  at  all,  and  were  not  other  women, 
especially  the  daughter-in-law  of  a  personage  famous 
in  great  circles,  were  not  they  smoking?  Maryska 
knew  nothing  about  palaces,  but  much  about  tobacco, 
and  this  was  a  question  which  nearly  led  to  the  resigna- 
tion of  the  Cabinet. 


CINDERELLA  227 


"I  shall  tell  the  waiter  to  bring  me  a  cigar,"  she 
exclaimed  at  last,  resting  her  pretty  face  upon  her 
clasped  hands  and  dealing  him  out  a  look  which  was 
feline  in  its  intensity.  Harry  gave  up  the  contest  at 
that  and  ordered  her  a  little  box  of  Russian  cigarettes 
upon  the  spot. 

"What  would  Mr.  Silvester  say?"  he  asked  her. 
He  might  as  well  have  talked  of  the  weather. 

"I  don't  care  a ,  and  if  you  provoke  me,  I  will 

say  it.  Am  I  a  little,  little  child  that  the  priests  shall 
beat  me?  Give  me  a  liqueur,  and  I  will  call  you  a 
good  boy.  If  you  do  not,  I  will  go  away." 

He  did  not  wish  her  to  go  away,  and  he  gave  her  the 
liqueur.  When,  at  length,  he  escaped,  she  besought 
him  to  take  her  to  "the  cafe  chantant,"  and  for  very 
importunity  they  went  over  to  the  Coliseum.  Here 
both  the  Connaissense  and  the  child  were  in  evidence. 
She  called  the  echo  of  a  tenor  "a  beast,"  was  dread- 
fully bored  by  a  comic  sketch,  but  enraptured  by  the 
"plate-breakers."  When  a  Russian  danseuse  ap- 
peared, her  eyes  sparkled,  and  all  her  body  swayed 
to  the  rhythm  of  the  graceful  movements.  She  would 
like  to  be  a  dancer — she  said  so. 

"When  I  leave  the  Silvesters,  I  will  come  to  the 
man  who  owns  this  theatre,  and  ask  him  to  let  me 
dance.  How  much  will  he  give  me  for  that,  Harry?" 

He  was  watching  the  Russian  when  she  spoke,  and 
hardly  noticed  it — but  she  persisted,  and  would  be 
heard. 

"I  used  to  dance  for  him,  sometimes — after  we  had 
been  to  the  cafes  together.  He  played  the  riddle — oh, 
so  badly ! — and  he  said  I  was  born  to  it.  Why  should 


228  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

I  not  dance  when  those  Silvester  people  are  tired  of 
me?" 

The  man  said,  "Oh,  rot!" — but  chancing  to  look 
at  her  presently,  he  was  startled  to  see  the  expression 
upon  her  face,  and  the  evidences  of  an  ecstasy  she 
could  not  conceal.  The  music  had  entered  into  her 
very  soul.  She  bent  to  it;  seemed  to  suffer  a  trance 
because  of  it,  while  her  eyes  watched  the  scene  as 
though  this  were  a  house  of  visions.  Harry  Lassett 
wondered;  she  was,  indeed,  an  extraordinary  child. 
When  the  ballet  was  over,  and  they  were  in  the  cab 
again,  he  told  her  so. 

"What  about  this  dancing  nonsense?  Did  you  say 
your  father  put  it  into  your  head?" 

"I  used  to  dance  for  him — very  well,  he  said.  I 
would  like  to  be  that  woman,  Harry!  The  Russian 
one,  with  the  diamonds  in  her  hair." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Maryska!  She's  been  dancing 
ever  since  she  was  four,  I  suppose.  I  expect  she's  got 
a  husband  who  drinks  champagne  and  thrashes  her 
with  a  horse-whip.  If  you  tried  that  game,  they'd 
laugh  at  you." 

She  leaned  back  upon  the  cushions  of  the  cab,  and 
looked  straight  before  her. 

"No  one  laughs  when  I  try  to  do  things.  I  know 
what  I  am  saying.  I  could  dance  as  well  as  the  Rus- 
sian woman,  and  they  would  give  me  a  lot  of  money. 
Why  should  I  not  do  it  ?  I  have  no  one  who  cares  for 
me!  Mr.  Faber  is  going  to  America — the  Silvesters 
do  not  like  me  because  I  am  tired  of  praying.  There, 
I  shall  come  to  the  theatre,  and  they  will  keep  me." 

Harry  was  not  a  sentimentalist,  very  far  from  it; 


CINDERELLA  229 


but  the  restrained  dolour  of  this  confession  made  a 
curious  appeal  to  him,  while,  at  the  same  time,  the 
childishness  of  it  exasperated  him.  Was  she  not  in 
reality  one  of  the  most  fortunate  women  in  London 
that  day?  Her  failure  to  realise  what  John  Faber's 
friendship  meant  was  incomprehensible,  and  yet  it 
could  not  be  disputed  that  she  did  fail  to  realise  it. 

"Look  here,  Maryska!"  he  said  emphatically,  "you 
don't  want  me  to  be  angry  with  you,  do  you,  now  ?" 

"No,"  she  said  very  quickly,  "not  you,  Harry."  And 
she  laid  her  hand  in  his.  He  did  not  repulse  her,  but 
went  on  with  the  argument. 

"If  you  don't  want  me  to  be  angry,  talk  sense! 
Faber  has  adopted  you,  and  he  is  one  of  the  richest 
men  in  the  world.  Very  well,  you'll  never  want  for 
anything  on  this  planet.  You're  going  into  life  on  a 
good  pitch,  and  the  bowling  is  bilge.  I  expect  they'll 
speak  of  you  as  a  famous  heiress  presently,  and  half 
the  men  in  London  be  after  you!  What's  the  good 
of  romancing,  then,  or  pretending  you  don't  under- 
stand ?  I'm  sure  you  understand  just  as  well  as  I  do 
— and  if  it  were  me,  I'd  knock  up  a  century,  certain ! 
Don't  you  think  you're  rather  foolish,  little  Gipsy?" 

She  shook  her  head,  and  put  her  arms  about  him 
in  a  gesture  she  could  not  control. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  am  very  lonely,  Harry!" — and 
she  spoke  no  other  word  until  the  cab  drove  up  to  the 
house  in  Well  Walk. 

HI 

These  excursions  were  no  secrets  between  a  boy  and 
a  girl,  and  Maryska  would  recite  every  detail  of  them 


230  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

upon  her  return  to  Hampstead.  She  was  spared  the 
necessity  upon  this  occasion  by  the  appearance  in  the 
road  of  another  taxi,  bringing  Silvester  and  Gabrielle 
from  Stepney.  The  four  met  upon  the  pavement,  and 
immediately  fell  to  a  narrative  of  events.  So  much 
had  been  done,  Gabrielle  said;  it  had  been  a  day  of 
triumphs,  and  they  had  been  achieved  by  Rupert 
Trevelle  in  the  face  of  great  odds. 

Harry  looked  at  his  fiancee  while  she  was  talking 
of  her  success,  and  he  could  not  but  realise  that  the 
recent  days  had  changed  her  greatly.  She  had  won 
dignity,  he  thought,  and  a  new  outlook  upon  life, 
which  could  not  be  a  transient  influence.  There  was 
in  her  manner  towards  him  a  sense  of  superiority, 
which  the  inferior  intellect  resented;  while  her  good- 
natured  badinage  upon  his  "holiday"  suggested  anew 
his  inability  to  play  any  serious  part  in  the  grave  af- 
fairs which  now  occupied  her.  But,  beyond  this,  was 
her  utter  indifference  to  his  attempts  to  make  her 
jealous,  and  he  knew  that  she  hardly  listened  to  him 
when  he  spoke  of  Maryska  and  the  theatre. 

"She  wants  to  be  a  dancer!  Oh!  every  child  wants 
to  be  that  some  time  or  other.  Were  you  not  going  to 
be  an  engine-driver  yourself  when  you  were  seve.n? 
You  told  me  so." 

"Yes,  but  she's  a  jolly  lot  more  than  seven,  and  if 
you  don't  look  out,  she'll  catch  and  bowl  the  three  of 
you." 

"My  dear  Harry,  that  is  nonsense.  Are  you  going 
skating  to-night?" 

"Yes,  if  you  are  coming." 

"I  can't.     Mr.  Trevelle  is  going  to  dine  with  us." 


CINDERELLA  231 


"What!  hasn't  he  done  talking  yet?  Someone 
ought  to  take  away  the  key.  That  man  is  wound 
up!" 

"At  any  rate,  he  is  the  life  and  soul  of  things.  He's 
got  nearly  twenty  thousand  pounds  for  us  in  five  days." 

"I'll  have  to  borrow  a  monkey  of  him.  Is  your 
tame  millionaire  coming  also  ?  They  say  in  the  papers 
that  he's  been  sent  for  by  the  Cabinet!  Is  he  going 
to  sell  some  of  his  wheat  cheap,  or  what?" 

Gabrielle  froze  perceptibly. 

"I  have  seen  very  little  of  Mr.  Faber.  It  is  not  to 
be  supposed  that  he  is  interested  in  what  we  do.  They 
say  he  is  going  to  America  from  Queenstown.  All  the 
steamers  are  to  sail  from  there  next  week." 

"If  the  strike  lets  them!  Is  Maryska  going  with 
him?" 

"I  don't  think  so;  we  are  to  have  charge  of  her. 
Won't  you  come  in,  or  must  you  go?  I  am  perishing 
here!" 

"Oh!"  he  said  with  chagrin,  "I  must  go,  as  usual" 
1 — and  he  lurched  off  down  the  street  without  even 
offering  his  hand  to  her. 

The  truth  was  that  he  was  angry  both  with  himself 
and  with  her.  Brief  as  their  odd  engagement  had 
been,  he  knew  that  it  had  been  a  great  mistake.  He 
felt  vaguely  that  his  brains  were  no  match  for  hers, 
and  that  she  was  coming  to  understand  the  fact.  And 
then  there  was  his  new  attitude  towards  Maryska. 
How  strangely  the  child  could  influence  him!  He 
remembered  almost  every  word  she  had  said  since  they 
set  out  for  the  Savoy  together.  The  memory  of  the 
many  faux  pas  she  had  made  was  so  humorous  that 


232 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

he  stood  upon  the  pavement  to  laugh  at  them  again. 
There  followed  a  recollection  of  the  moment  when 
she  had  put  her  arms  about  him,  and  he  had  kissed 
her.  His  whole  soul  had  gone  out  into  that  kiss !  The 
warm  lips  upon  his  own,  the  hands  which  thrilled  him, 
the  hair  brushing  his  face  lightly — all  had  moved  him 
in  a  transport  of  desire  he  could  not  resist.  And  he 
was  engaged  to  Gabrielle!  His  step  quickened  when 
he  remembered  it,  and  he  tried  to  sweep  the  inevitable 
accusation  aside.  He  was  engaged  to  Gabrielle,  who 
trusted  him.  A  silent  voice  asked,  was  it  cricket?— 
and  he  could  make  no  answer. 

In  his  own  rooms,  by  the  Holly  Bush  Inn,  the  hag 
who  robbed  him  had  stirred  up  a  splendid  fire  in  the 
grate  and  set  the  teacups  for  two,  a  suggestion  which 
caused  him  some  irritation.  Here  was  his  holy  of 
holies,  chiefly  devoted  to  cricket  bats  and  tennis 
rackets.  The  walls  were  decorated  by  a  number  of 
"groups"  of  the  teams  for  which  he  had  played,  in- 
cluding two  English  elevens  against  Australia,  and 
at  least  six  which  had  opposed  the  Players.  Else- 
where, and  chiefly  upon  the  writing  table  at  which  he 
rarely  wrote,  were  smaller  pictures,  including  one  of 
Gabrielle  which  had  been  taken  in  New  York,  and  an- 
other which  he  called  "the  Flapper"  portrait.  The 
latter  showed  a  chubby-faced  child  of  fourteen  with 
her  hair  down  her  back,  and  legs  of  such  ample  pro- 
portions that  she  might  have  been  in  training  as  an 
athlete.  The  picture  had  been  his  ideal  for  many 
years,  but  he  regarded  it  a  little  wistfully  now.  When 
he  sat  down  to  tea,  he  took  with  him  a  little  book  be- 
tween whose  leaves  was  a  miniature  of  Maryska,  done 


CINDERELLA  233 


by  her  father  some  three  years  ago.  Such  an  ex- 
quisite painting  had  never  been  in  his  possession  be- 
fore. It  had  been  one  of  her  few  treasures,  and  yet 
she  had  given  it  to  him. 

Louis  de  Paleologue  had  painted  this  in  Paris,  in- 
tending to  sell  it;  but  Maryska  stole  it  when  he  was 
at  the  cafe  one  day,  and  neither  threats  nor  persuasion 
had  robbed  her  of  it  subsequently.  It  showed  her 
head  and  shoulders,  a  veil  of  gauze  about  her,  and  a 
Turkish  cap  upon  her  head.  The  note  of  it  was  the 
passionate  intensity  of  the  girl's  eyes,  glowing  like 
jewels  in  the  picture,  but  with  a  depth  of  human  feel- 
ing art  is  rarely  able  to  convey.  For  the  rest  it  might 
have  been  a  miniature  of  the  Bologna  School  and  it 
had  all  the  virtues  of  colour  of  which  those  masters 
were  capable.  Harry  understood  its  value,  and  he 
thought  that  he  knew  why  Maryska  had  given  it  to 
him.  He  did  not  ask  himself  why  the  gift  had  been 
kept  secret,  or  why  he  had  no  courage  to  speak  of  it 
to  Gabrielle. 

He  was  at  the  stage  when  he  knew  that  something 
must  be  done,  and  yet  would  consent  to  drift  upon  the 
tide  of  circumstances.  The  inevitable  had  happened, 
and  this  boy  and  girl,  thrown  by  the  chance  of  con- 
fidence into  each  other's  society,  were  lovers  already. 
What  the  future  had  in  store  neither  dared  to  ask. 
Vanity  and  John  Faber  were  driving  him  into  a  speedy 
marriage  with  Gabrielle,  and  they  had  spoken  already 
of  the  week  previous  to  Lent.  This  was  to  say  that 
in  five  weeks'  time  he  would  be  her  husband.  It 
seemed  impossible  to  contemplate.  Harry  drank  his 
tea  with  his  eyes  still  upon  the  picture  of  Maryska. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  MAN  OF  THE  MOMENT 


It  was  quite  true  that  Faber  had  been  summoned  to 
Downing  Street;  equally  true  to  declare  that  not  even 
the  wit  of  that  engaging  Paul  Pry,  Master  Bertie 
Morris,  would  have  divined  the  nature  of  the  inter- 
view. 

Perhaps  good  common  sense  might  have  helped 
him  had  he  trusted  to  such  a  cicerone  rather  than  to 
his  ears. 

Here  was  the  head  of  one  of  the  most  famous  en- 
gineering firms  in  the  world  held  prisoner  in  London 
during  these  days  of  national  tribulation.  The  house 
of  John  Faber  and  Son  had  achieved  colossal  under- 
takings in  all  quarters  of  the  globe.  Its  transport 
mechanism  was  beyond  question  the  finest  in  existence. 
The  genius  of  it  was  known  to  be  the  man  who  had 
recently  sold  some  millions  of  rifles  to  Germany — a 
man  accredited  by  rumour  with  such  sagacity  that  he 
had  cornered  the  wheat-market  during  the  earliest  days 
of  this  memorable  winter.  The  latter  proceeding  did 
not  help  his  popularity  in  England,  though  it  was  ig- 
nored by  the  politicians  who  invited  him  to  Downing 
Street.  In  a  word,  they  desired  to  know  how  he  was 
going  to  bring  his  wheat  into  England. 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  MOMENT  235 

Faber  was  some  hours  at  the  conference,  and  directly 
it  was  over  he  left  London  with  Rupert  Trevelle,  and 
set  off  for  Liverpool.  Unusually  quiet  and  obviously 
troubled  by  a  "brain  fit,"  he  delved  into  a  mass  of 
newspapers  while  the  train  rolled  on  over  the  frozen 
fields,  and  it  was  not  until  they  had  passed  Crewe  that 
he  laid  the  paper  aside  and  addressed  a  remark  to  his 
ready  friend. 

"I  guess  London  is  pretty  well  like  a  rat  pit  just 
now ;  at  least  these  newspaper  men  make  it  so.  Hun- 
ger's a  useful  sort  of  dog  when  his  dander  is  risen.  I 
suppose  Miss  Silvester  has  found  that  out  already?" 

Trevelle,  who  smoked  an  immense  cigar,  and  wore 
a  fur  coat  with  a  wonderful  collar  of  astrachan,  rose 
to  the  occasion  immediately. 

"We  are  living  on  a  volcano,"  he  said.  "The  gov- 
ernment knows  it,  and  others  must  guess  it.  I  am 
waiting  every  day  to  see  the  shell  burst  and  the  lava 
come  out.  We  want  imagination  to  understand  just 
what  is  going  on  in  England  at  the  present  time. 
That  is  where  we  are  short.  All  the  way  down  here, 
I  have  been  looking  at  these  cottages  and  asking  my- 
self in  how  many  of  them  the  children  have  no  bread 
this  night.  My  God!  think  of  the  women  who  are 
bearing  the  burden — but,  of  course,  you  are  the  man 
who  has  thought  of  it.  I  wonder  sometimes  how  much 
you  would  have  made  but  for  certain  things.  You 
didn't  buy  corn  to  give  it  away  in  Stepney,  Mr.  Faber; 
that  wasn't  in  your  mind  a  month  ago.  I'll  swear  you 
had  very  different  intentions." 

"No  need  to  swear  at  all.  I'm  not  a  philanthropist ; 
I  never  was.  I  bought  that  wheat  because  the  cleverest 


236  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

weather  man  in  New  York  promised  a  winter  which, 
anyway,  would  make  the  market  sure.  I  went  in  as 
any  other  speculator.  How  I  am  coming  out  is  a  dif- 
ferent proposition.  They  don't  seem  to  think  much  of 
me  in  England — not  by  what  these  writers  say.  I 
guess  if  I  were  a  prize  fighter,  I'd  be  doing  better 
business  in  the  popularity  line." 

Trevelle  was  a  little  upset  about  it. 

"It  can  all  be  put  right  in  a  day  if  you  wish  it." 

"But  I  don't  wish  it." 

"I  know  you  don't;  you  are  wanting  the  girl  to 
have  the  credit  of  it." 

"Why  not  ?  It's  a  bagatelle  to  me.  And  the  game 
will  soon  be  up.  I  can  feed  a  few  thousands  in  Lon- 
don, but  I  can't  feed  a  nation.  Either  I  send  a  cable 
to  Charleston  surrendering  to  my  men  or  I  do  not. 
If  I  do,  it  will  cost  me  half  my  fortune;  if  I  don't  and 
this  frost  holds,  you'll  see  red  hell  in  England  before 
twenty  days  have  run." 

"Then  the  rumours  about  the  strike  breaking  at 
Liverpool  are  true?  There  is  something  in  them?" 

"There  is  everything  in  them.  The  government 
can  deal  with  this  side  if  I  deal  with  the  other.  It's 
up  to  me  in  the  end  and  I  must  say  'Yes,'  or  'No.' 
If  I  say  'Yes,'  all  America  will  laugh  at  me — if  I  don't, 
well  who's  to  charge  me?  That's  the  situation,  that 
and  your  own  people,  who  are  going  to  give  the  poli- 
ticians their  day.  I  tell  you,  it's  a  considerable  proposi- 
tion and  is  going  to  make  me  older  before  I  have  done 
with  it." 

He  was  unusually  earnest,  and  his  manner  forbade 
any  inquiry  as  to  what  had  happened  in  Downing 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  MOMENT  237 

Street,  a  matter  Trevelle's  curiosity  would  have  probed 
if  it  could.  To  be  candid,  this  polished  gentleman, 
who  indirectly  had  brought  the  fact  of  Faber's  pres- 
ence in  England  to  the  notice  of  the  government,  was 
immensely  pleased  by  the  part  he  had  played  in  the 
stirring  events  of  recent  days.  Not  a  lover  of  money, 
but  a  persistent  seeker  after  social  credit,  when  it  could 
be  gained  by  worthy  ends,  Trevelle  had  won  distinc- 
tion in  twenty  ways :  as  a  founder  of  boys'  camps,  an 
officer  of  Territorials,  and  a  promoter  of  some  schemes 
which  had  become  national.  And  here  he  was  in  these 
critical  days  by  the  side  of  the  man  whose  genius  might 
well  be  the  salvation  of  his  fellow-countrymen. 

Then  entered  Liverpool  a  little  late  in  the  after- 
noon, and  went  at  once  to  the  scene  of  the  strike.  It 
was  bitterly  cold  weather,  but  nothing  to  justify  the 
fearsome  stories  which  had  delighted  London  for  some 
days  past.  The  strike  itself  appeared  to  be  the  result 
as  much  of  lack  of  work  as  of  any  fundamental  dis- 
content; starvation  had  been  busy  here,  and  the  fruits 
of  starvation  were  now  to  be  reaped.  As  in  London, 
haggard  gangs  paraded  the  streets  and  clamoured  for 
bread ;  there  were  turbulent  scenes  in  the  darker  quar- 
ters of  the  city,  and  not  a  little  of  that  unmeasured 
mischief  which  ever  treads  upon  the  heels  of  want. 
An  interview  with  the  men's  leaders  convinced  Faber 
that  America  alone  could  unlock  the  doors  of  this  com- 
pulsory idleness,  and  it  set  his  own  responsibility  once 
more  in  a  lurid  light.  Let  him  cable  that  message  of 
surrender  and  the  end  would  be  at  hand;  but  in  that 
case  his  own  people  would  call  him  a  genius  no  more 
and  Wall  Street  would  deride  him.  He  saw  himself 


238  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

as  the  enemy  of  the  British  people,  dominant  in  vic- 
tory and  yet  upon  the  eve  of  a  defeat  which  never 
could  be  retrieved.  And  if  this  befell  him  a  woman 
must  answer  for  it — an  ancient  story  truly. 

From  Liverpool  he  journeyed  to  Fishguard,  thence 
to  the  south  coast.  A  greater  rigour  of  the  frost  was 
here,  and  it  was  possible  for  the  dreamer  to  under- 
stand some  of  those  fears  which  had  haunted  the 
timorous  during  the  eventful  days.  Perhaps  a  man 
of  large  imagination  might  have  been  justified  in 
looking  across  the  still  seas  and  asking  himself  what 
would  befall  the  island  kingdom  if  the  prophets  were 
justified. 

At  Dover,  even  John  Faber  dreamed  a  dream  and 
did  not  hesitate  to  speak  of  it  to  Trevelle.  Sleeping 
lightly  because  of  the  bitter  cold,  he  imagined  that 
the  Channel  had  become  but  a  lake  of  black  ice  in 
which  great  ships  were  embedded,  and  that  far  and 
wide  over  the  unbroken  surface  went  the  sledges  of 
the  adventurous.  Driven  to  imitate  the  leaders  in 
this  fair  emprise,  he  himself  embarked  also  upon  an 
ice-ship  presently,  and  went  out  into  the  night  over 
that  very  silver  streak  which  had  been  the  salvation 
of  England  during  the  centuries.  The  white  cliffs  be- 
hind him  disappeared  anon  in  the  mist ;  a  great  silence 
fell  all  about;  he  passed  an  ice-yacht  moving  before 
the  lightest  breeze,  and  she  was  but  a  shadow  picture. 
Ultima  Thule  and  the  frozen  wastes  were  here. 

It  was  a  dream  of  the  darkness,  and  it  carried  him 
many  miles  from  the  English  shore ;  he  perceived  that 
the  coastwise  lights  blazed  out  as  usual,  and  he  could 
discern  in  the  far  distance  the  magnificent  beams  from 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  MOMENT  239 

Cape  Grisnez  and  nearer  to  them  the  splendid  message 
of  the  Forelands.  A  phantom  light  upon  his  own  ship 
was  powerful  enough  to  cut  a  golden  path  over  the 
frozen  sea  and  show  him  its  wonders  and  its  solitudes. 
Here  where  great  steamers  went  westward  to  the 
Americas,  eastward  to  the  city's  ports;  here  where 
many  thousands  crossed  daily  at  the  bidding  of  many 
interests;  here  a  man  might  stand  alone  and  hear  no 
other  sounds  than  that  of  the  freshening  winds  of 
eventide  or  the  groaning  of  the  ice  when  the  sea  re- 
fuses its  harbourage.  A  weird,  wild  scene,  stupendous 
in  its  suggestion,  an  hour  of  Nature's  transcendent 
victory.  And  yet  but  a  dream  of  his  sleep,  after  all. 

II 

Such  was  the  vision  which  reality  supported  but  ill. 

There  was  ice  in  the  southern  harbours,  but  there 
had  been  ice  there  before,  and  nothing  but  the  imagi- 
nation of  discerning  journalists  had  bridged  the  peace- 
ful seas  and  put  upon  the  frozen  way  the  armies  of  the 
invader.  Faber  perceived  immediately  that  a  few  of 
his  ice-dredges  from  Charleston  could  undo  any  mis- 
chief that  Nature  had  done,  and  he  sent  a  cable  to 
America  there  and  then,  as  a  sop  to  the  fears  of  the 
timorous  rather  than  a  measure  of  real  necessity. 

It  was  odd  how,  through  it  all,  this  man  whose 
name  was  known  to  so  few  Englishmen  had  become 
the  arbiter  of  the  nation's  destiny.  He  held  the  bulk 
of  the  wheat  which  could  be  shipped  from  the  West  if 
the  men  who  loaded  the  ships  were  willing;  with  him 
lay  that  "Yes"  or  "No"  which  should  unlock  the 


240  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

gates  and  bid  a  starving  population  enter  the  granaries. 
Once  in  his  younger  days  he  had  heard  a  preacher 
who  took  for  his  text  the  words,  "Sell  that  thou 
hast,"  and  he  remembered  how  that  this  man  had  de- 
clared the  need  of  an  all-embracing  sacrifice  once  in 
the  course  of  every  life.  The  words  haunted  him,  and 
could  not  be  stilled.  He  had  become  as  a  King  or 
Emperor  of  old  time  who  could  make  war  or  end  it 'by 
a  word.  Irony  reminded  him  that  he  was  an  apostle 
of  war,  and  that  a  sentiment  which  would  deride  it 
had  no  place  in  his  creed.  Why,  and  for  whom,  should 
he  beggar  himself  to  serve  this  people?  His  financial 
empire  would  come  down  with  a  crash  if  he  sur- 
rendered now — he  believed  that  he  would  never  sur- 
render, and  yet  he  sent  a  compromising  cable  to 
America  that  day. 

This  was  just  before  Trevelle  and  he  returned  to 
London  through  a  country  which  seemed  to  have  no 
other  thoughts  than  the  pleasures  of  the  frost  Every- 
where the  villages  kept  carnival  upon  the  ice  with 
merriment  and  music  and  the  pageantry  of  snows. 

To  Faber  this  seemed  a  wonderful  trait  in  the  na- 
tional character,  and  not  to  be  met  by  Trevelle's  cheery 
reminiscence  of  the  gladiatorial  salute.  These  people 
had  not  saluted  the  frost  because  they  believed  that 
they  were  about  to  die,  but  because  they  thought  that 
the  national  intellect  would  enable  them  to  live.  It 
had  been  the  same  during  the  Boer  War  and  far  back 
during  the  Crimea.  Beneath  the  veil  of  tribulation 
lay  the  enduring  faith  that  the  nation  would  emerge, 
purified  by  the  ordeal  and  greater  for  the  knowledge 
of  its  own  strength. 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  MOMENT 


"You  see  yourselves  worrying  through,  and  that's 
all  you  care  about,"  he  said,  as  the  morning  train 
carried  them  to  London,  and  the  daily  papers  were 
strewn  about  him  like  the  monstrous  leaves  of  an  un- 
healthy plant  :  "the  skin  of  this  nation  is  the  thickest 
on  the  globe,  and  perhaps  its  most  wonderful  asset. 
When  you  do  get  into  a  panic,  you  show  it  chiefly  in 
the  smoking-room  or  over  the  dinner-table.  This  time 
you've  the  biggest  chunk  to  chew  I  can  remember,  and 
yet  you  are  only  beginning  to  see  how  big  it  is.  The 
mob  is  teaching  you  something,  and  you'll  learn  more." 

He  took  up  a  journal  from  the  seat,  and  passing  it 
over  to  Trevelle,  indicated  some  immense  headlines. 

"See,  here  !  the  crowd  has  burned  down  your  Tem- 
ple, and  is  asking  for  another  to  keep  Jem  warm. 
That's  British  right  through,  I  guess,  and  something  to 
go  on  with.  It's  just  what  a  man  should  expect  when 
he  turns  philanthropist  on  his  own  account.  You  give 
them  what  they  want,  and  they  are  mad  because  they 
want  it.  It's  a  pretty  story,  and  you  should  read  it. 
It  will  certainly  interest  you." 

Trevelle  took  up  the  paper  and  read  the  report  to 
the  last  line.  Yesterday  at  five  o'clock,  an  enormous 
rabble  had  surrounded  the  factory  by  Leman  Street, 
and  there  being  no  one  in  charge  who  could  deal  with 
them,  the  hooligans  had  set  the  place  on  fire  and 
burned  it  to  the  ground.  From  that  they  had  gone  on 
to  other  pleasantries,  chiefly  connected  with  the  phil- 
anthropic agencies  in  the  East  End.  A  mission  had 
been  burned  at  Stepney;  a  boys'  institute  at  Bethnal 
Green.  There  was  hardly  a  baker's  shop  in  the  lo- 
cality which  had  not  been  looted,  while  some  of  the 


242  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

larger  stores  were  but  shattered  ruins.  The  report 
added  that  a  vast  horde  of  ruffians,  numbering  at  least 
two  hundred  thousand  men,  was  then  marching  upon 
Pall  Mall,  and  that  troops  were  being  hurried  to  Lon- 
don. It  was  altogether  the  most  sensational  affair 
since  the  beginning  of  the  frost. 

"Poor  little  Gabrielle!"  said  Trevelle,  thinking  first 
of  the  woman.  "I'm  glad  she  wasn't  there.  This  will 
be  an  awful  blow  to  her !" 

"Not  if  she's  got  the  common  sense  I  credit  her 
with.  Women's  ideals  are  not  readily  shaken,  and 
Miss  Silvester  has  some  big  ones,  which  are  permanent. 
I'll  see  her  to-day,  and  we'll  know  what's  to  be  done. 
Tell  her  as  much  when  we  get  to  London." 

"If  there  is  any  London  left  to  get  to " 

"Oh!  there'll  be  a  nook  and  corner  somewhere. 
Your  fellows  have  a  genius  for  dealing  with  mobs. 
I  would  back  the  police  in  London  against  all  the 
riff-raff  east  of  St.  Paul's.  But  they'll  do  some  mis- 
chief, none  the  less — and  even  this  may  not  help  us 
for  the  moment.  Do  you  guess  what's  in  that  cable, 
Mr.  Trevelle — why,  how  should  you?  And  yet  it 
might  mean  more  to  your  people  to-day  than  ten  mil- 
lion sovereigns,  counted  out  on  the  floor  of  West- 
minster Hall !" 

He  held  up  the  familiar  dirty  paper  upon  which  the 
Post  Office  writes  the  most  momentous  of  messages, 
and  then  showed  his  companion  that  it  had  come  from 
Queenstown. 

"The  men  on  my  side  have  given  in,"  he  said,  add- 
ing nothing  of  his  own  act  in  that  great  matter,  "the 
steamers  will  be  sailing  inside  twenty- four  hours.  It's 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  MOMENT  243 

a  race,  sir,  between  me  and  the  worst  side  of  your 
nation.  And  I  guess  I'll  win." 

"If  you  do,"  said  Trevelle  earnestly,  "there  is  noth- 
ing our  government  can  do  to  repay  the  debt." 

"Unless  they  teach  the  people  the  lesson  of  it;  do, 
you  think  it  is  nothing  to  an  American  to  see  this  great 
country  at  the  mercy  of  the  first  food  panic  which 
overtakes  her  ?  I  tell  you,  it  is  as  much  to  my  country- 
men as  to  yours.  Teach  them  that  they  have  a  precious 
possession  in  this  island  kingdom,  and  you  are  doing 
a  great  work.  I  shall  be  a  proud  man  to  have  a  hand 
in  it " 

"You  certainly  will  have  that.  It's  a  lesson  we  all 
need.  I  don't  think  I  could  have  repeated  it  myself, 
but  for  these  weeks.  Now,  I  know — and  the  man  who 
knows  can  never  forget." 

He  fell  to  silence  upon  it,  and  regarding  the  drear 
country  from  the  blurred  window,  perceived  a  barren 
field  and  a  drift  of  snow  falling  from  a  sullen  sky.  Yet 
sore  afflicted  as  she  was,  he  remembered  that  this  was 
Mother  England,  and  that  he  and  countless  others  had 
been  but  ungrateful  sons  in  the  days  of  her  glory. 

Would  it  be  otherwise  when  the  shadows  had 
passed  ? 

Ah !  who  could  tell  ? 


BOOK  IV 
MERELY  MEN  AND  WOMEN 


CHAPTER  I 

AFTER  THE  DEBACLE 
I 

Gabrielle  was  at  her  club  in  Burlington  Gardens 
when  the  news  of  the  riot  in  Stepney  was  brought  by 
her  father.  She  determined  to  go  back  at  once  that 
she  might  know  the  worst. 

"How  can  they  say  such  things  ?"  she  protested  while 
a  footman  helped  her  on  with  her  furs,  and  her  father 
watched  her  humbly,  as  latterly  it  was  his  wont  to  do. 
"Why!  everything  is  going  so  well,  father.  I  had  a 
perfect  ovation  this  morning;  it  was  nearly  half  an 
hour  before  I  could  get  away  from  the  people.  Why 
should  they  have  done  this?" 

Silvester  said  that  he  could  not  tell  her.  AH  that 
he  knew  he  had  learned  by  the  mouth  of  a  messenger, 
who  had  been  dispatched  headlong  from  Stepney  and 
came  panting  with  the  news. 

"You  should  not  have  listened  to  Mr.  Faber,  my 
dear.  He  is  an  American,  and  he  does  not  understand 
our  people.  The  ticket  idea  was  quite  wrong.  It  led 
to  many  jealousies,  and  now  to  this.  The  people  think 
there  is  a  great  store  of  bread  in  Leman  Street,  and 
that  it  is  being  given  only  to  our  friends.  I  am  sorry 
the  story  got  abroad,  very  sorry!  Charity  cannot 
discriminate  in  such  times  as  these." 

247 


248 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

He  would  have  gone  on  to  preach  quite  a  little 
sermon  to  the  hall  porter  and  the  footmen,  who  told 
each  other  afterward  that  the  young  lady  gave  it 
to  him  "  *ot" — but  Gabrielle,  amazed  and  chagrined 
beyond  all  experience,  immediately  ordered  them  to 
get  a  taxi  and  drive  without  any  delay  to  Stepney. 
It  was  then  about  seven  o'clock  of  the  evening;  a 
bitter  cold  night  with  a  wraith  of  snow  in  the  air. 
The  West  End  seemed  entirely  deserted  at  such  an 
hour — even  the  music-halls  had  no  queues  at  their 
doors,  while  the  theatrical  managers  complained  dole- 
fully of  their  financial  sorrows.  London  had  awakened 
to  the  truth  of  the  situation  at  last,  and  London  was 
frightened.  Even  the  unobservant  Silvester  could 
realise  the  omens  of  menace,  and  say  that  the  city 
was  in  peril. 

"I  don't  know  what  it  means,"  he  told  Gabrielle, 
as  they  drove,  "but  I  passed  a  regiment  of  cavalry  as 
I  came  here,  and  it  was  going  toward  Oxford  Circus. 
Do  you  notice  how  many  police  there  are  about,  and 
mounted  police  ?  There  is  hardly  a  shop  in  the  West 
End  which  is  not  boarded  up.  Perhaps  they  are  wise 
— this  has  taught  them  what  lies  on  the  other  side  of 
Aldgate,  and  it  is  a  lesson  they  should  have  learned  a 
long  time  ago.  My  own  opinion  is  that  we  are  upon 
the  brink  of  a  revolution;  though,  of  course,  I  would 
not  say  as  much  to  any  of  these  newspaper  people !" 

"If  you  think  it,  father,  why  not  say  it?  Surely 
the  day  has  gone  by  for  the  old  foolish  ideas.  The 
government  has  left  the  people  to  starve,  and  must 
take  the  consequences.  We  have  done  our  best,  but 
we  are  not  policemen.  I  feel  tempted  to  go  back  to 


AFTER  THE  DEBACLE  249 

Hampstead  and  having  nothing  more  to  do  with  it. 
Think  of  the  ingratitude,  the  shame  of  it  all — and  we 
have  worked  so  hard!" 

"You  should  not  have  listened  to  Mr.  Faber,  my 
dear;  I  said  as  much  at  the  beginning.  He  is  very 
ignorant  of  English  people;  it  was  a  mistake  to  listen 
to  him." 

"You  didn't  think  that  on  the  steamer,  father,  when 
we  came  over  from  America.  You  were  his  bravest 
advocate ;  you  called  him  one  of  the  world's  geniuses, 
I  remember  it." 

Silvester  admitted  it. 

"I  hoped  much  from  him.  If  we  could  have  won 
him,  it  would  have  been  the  greatest  victory  in  the 
cause  of  peace  we  have  ever  achieved.  I  fear  now  he 
must  be  called  our  evil  genius.  He  has  undoubtedly 
sold  all  those  rifles  to  Germany,  and  that  is  to  say 
that  we  shall  have  the  old  foolish  scares  again  and 
very  soon.  A  man  like  that  is  a  terrible  instrument 
of  mischief.  I  think  we  shall  have  to  dissociate  our- 
selves from  him  altogether  when  the  little  girl  is  well 
enough  to  leave  us." 

Gabrielle  sighed  as  though  all  these  things  had  be- 
come a  burden  on  her  mind.  An  innate  sympathy  for 
John  Faber  prevented  her  saying  what  otherwise  it 
would  have  been  a  truth  to  say.  How  much  he  could 
have  done  for  them  had  he  chosen  to  do  it!  His 
money  would  have  helped  them  so — an  inconsequent 
thought,  for  her  charities  had  never  wanted  money. 

"He  was  certainly  wrong  about  the  tickets,"  she 
admitted.  "I  know  Mr.  Trevelle  thought  so,  but  he 
gave  way.  If  it  is  really  true  that  he  is  keeping  bread 


250  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

from  the  people  to  serve  his  own  ends,  nothing  bad 
enough  can  be  said  about  it,  but  I  want  to  know  that 
it  is  true.  It  has  been  very  unkind  of  him  to  do 
nothing  for  us  when  he  might  have  done  so  much. 
My  opinion  of  him  is  greatly  changed ;  I  do  not  think 
he  is  really  our  friend." 

Silvester  was- quite  of  that  opinion  also. 

"He  made  us  such  extravagant  promises.  A  house 
in  the  West  End,  motors — every  luxury.  I  really 
thought  he  was  quite  serious  when  I  left  Ragusa.  Sir 
Jules  Achon  did  not  wish  us  to  go.  He  knows  these 
people;  he  thought  I  was  ill-advised  to  give  up  Yon- 
kers  for  such  vague  promises.  I  wish  I  had  listened 
to  him  now;  he  is  still  on  those  delightful  waters,  far 
away  from  all  this.  We  should  have  been  with  him 
but  for  our  foolish  generosity." 

Gabrielle  avoided  the  difficult  subject.  She  must 
have  been  a  little  ashamed  of  it  when  she  remembered 
the  gifts  John  Faber  had  lavished  upon  them  already 
and  the  concern  he  displayed  for  Maryska.  The  con- 
versation, indeed,  carried  her  back  to  a  somewhat  com- 
monplace reality  from  which  she  had  emerged  to  win 
this  temporary  triumph  as  a  ministering  angel  in  the 
East  End.  And  now  they  had  burned  her  Temple  and 
the  idol  was  cast  down.  Her  father  would  send 
Maryska  away,  and  they  must  return  to  the  old  hum- 
drum life.  John  Faber  and  his  riches  would  pass  as 
a  ship  of  the  night.  Harry  Lassett  and  the  dead 
leaves  of  a  withered  passion  remained. 

"Oh,"  she  said  at  last,  "how  vain  is  all  we  do !  How 
vain,  how  hopeless!  We  are  just  like  ants  crawling 
about  the  earth  and  trying  to  set  ourselves  up  for 


AFTER  THE  DEBACLE  251 

gods.  We  talk  of  peace  and  war,  of  good  and  evil,  of 
what  we  shall  accomplish  and  what  we  have  done,  and 
then  down  comes  the  great  flat  foot  of  circumstance 
and  out  we  go.  I  lose  the  power  even  to  hope  some- 
times. Why  should  we  not  let  things  drift?  Who  is 
the  better  for  our  work?" 

Her  father  would  not  agree  to  that. 

"Every  stone  cast  into  the  lake  of  the  world's  ills 
is  an  asset  in  humanity's  balance  sheet,"  he  said.  "You 
have  cast  many,  Gabrielle,  and  will  add  to  the  num- 
ber. Look  out  there  at  those  poor  people.  Is  it  all 
vain  when  you  remember  how  many  of  their  kind  you 
have  succoured  ?  This  American  hardness  is  no  good 
influence;  I  wish  we  could  shake  it  off  forever.  In- 
deed, it  were  better  so." 

"We  shall  do  that,"  she  said  quietly.  "Mr.  Faber 
will  not  be  many  days  in  England  when  the  frost  will 
let  him  get  away." 

He  remained  silent.  They  had  passed  Charing 
Cross,  and  now  their  way  was  blocked  by  a  vast  torch- 
light procession  of  women,  debouching  upon  the 
Strand  from  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Old  Kent  Road. 
It  was  a  sorry  spectacle,  for  here  were  young  and  old, 
white-haired  women  with  their  backs  bent  toward 
the  earth  which  soon  would  receive  them;  drabs  in 
rags  who  flaunted  their  tattered  beauty  in  the  face 
of  every  male;  quiet  workers  whose  children  were 
starving  in  garrets;  women  from  mean  streets  who 
had  never  begged  in  all  their  lives ;  children  who  won- 
dered if  the  end  of  the  world  had  come.  Headed 
by  a  lank  harridan  who  wore  a  crimson  shawl  and 
carried  an  immense  torch,  these  miserables  tramped 


252 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

stolidly  toward  the  West  End,  seeking  God  knows 
what  relief  from  the  shuttered  houses.  And  after  them 
went  a  dozen  mounted  policemen,  good-humoured, 
chubby-cheeked  fellows,  who  had  never  wanted  bread 
and  were  never  out  of  patience  with  others  less 
fortunate. 

A  thousand  expressions  were  to  be  read  upon  the 
faces  of  this  haggard  crew,  and  not  a  little  fine  deter- 
mination. Here  would  be  a  woman  reeling  in  drink; 
yonder  a  young  mother  hardly  strong  enough  to  walk 
the  streets.  There  were  sluts  and  shapely  girls,  crea- 
tures of  a  shabby  finery,  and  hopeless  woebegone  fig- 
ures of  an  unchanging  poverty.  From  time  to  time 
wistful  glances  would  be  cast  up  at  the  lighted  win- 
dows of  the  houses  as  though  succour  might  be  cast 
down  thence.  All  moved  with  rapid,  shuffling  steps,  an 
orderly  concourse  which  concealed  the  forces  of  dis- 
order. By  here  and  there,  some  of  the  younger 
members  broke  into  a  mournful  song,  which  was 
checked  at  intervals  to  permit  of  the  exchange  of 
coarse  wit  with  the  passers-by  on  the  pavements.  The 
whole  throng  seemed  driven  relentlessly  on  toward  a 
nameless  goal  which  must  break  their  hope  when  at 
last  they  reached  it. 

"Isn't  it  dreadful  to  see  them?"  said  Gabrielle  when 
the  last  of  the  procession  had  passed  by  and  traffic  in 
the  Strand  was  resumed  once  more.  "This  sort  of 
thing  affects  me  terribly;  it  makes  me  feel  sorry  that 
there  are  women  in  the  world  at  all.  Think  of  the 
children  of  such  creatures!  What  can  we  hope  for 
them?" 

"It  is  the  children  for  whom  we  must  work,"  re- 


AFTER  THE  DEBACLE  253 

joined  the  father.     "I  should  think  of  England  with 
despair  if  it  were  not  for  the  children." 

Worthy  man !  Despair  had  always  been  among  the 
wares  in  his  basket;  and  yet,  how  often  had  this  un- 
happy British  people  gone  laughing  by  with  never  a 
thought  for  him  or  his  melancholy  gospel? 

II 

The  menace  of  the  streets  was  not  less  when  the 
women  had  passed  by  and  the  traffic  flowed  again. 

London  was  full  of  wild  mobs  that  night;  of  savage 
men  and  men  made  savage  by  hunger,  and  they  were 
drifted  to  and  fro  upon  the  shifting  seas  of  authority 
and  stranded  on  many  a  relentless  shore.  There  was 
riot,  too,  and  upon  riot,  pillage  and  the  incendiary. 
Now  for  the  first  time  since  the  winter  set  in,  hunger 
drove  even  the  orderly  to  the  West  in  the  wild  search 
for  the  food  the  East  could  not  give  them.  Long 
through  the  dark  hours,  in  Bond  Street,  in  Piccadilly, 
by  Hyde  Park,  away  in  the  remotest  suburbs,  sleepers 
were  awakened  to  listen  fearfully  to  the  tramp  of  feet 
and  the  hoarse  voices  of  the  multitudes.  Those  who 
had  the  curiosity  to  look  from  their  windows  beheld  a 
sky  quivering  with  light,  a  glorious  iridescence  above 
many  a  flaming  building  the  rioters  had  fired.  It  was 
the  beginning  of  the  end,  men  said;  a  visitation  of 
Almighty  God  against  which  all  were  impotent.  Who 
shall  wonder  that  those  whose  faith  was  sure  prayed 
for  the  salvation  of  their  country  in  that  hour  of  her 
need  ? 

There  were  enormous  crowds  about  Aldgate,  and 


254 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

the  taxi  containing  Gabrielle  and  her  father  made  but 
slow  headway.  When  at  last  it  entered  Leman  Street, 
they  perceived  in  an  instant  the  whole  extent  of  the 
disaster;  and  so  irreparable  it  seemed  that  the  girl's 
pride  broke  down  utterly,  and  she  shed  bitter  tears 
of  shame  and  grief.  How  she  had  worked  for  these 
people!  What  a  heroine  they  had  made  of  her!  This 
very  morning  there  had  been  a  kind  of  triumphal 
procession  from  the  old  Temple  to  the  new.  She  had 
been  followed  by  a  vast  concourse  of  thankful  people, 
who  cheered  her  as  she  went;  while  the  bishop  had 
addressed  the  throngs  from  the  doors  of  the  mission, 
and  spoken  of  the  "noble  lady,"  whose  services  to 
them  had  been  priceless.  This  was  just  eight  hours 
ago,  and  now  there  were  but  reddening  ashes  where 
the  workers  had  stood  to  give  the  children  bread. 

The  cab  made  its  way  to  the  doors  of  the  wrecked 
building  and  an  inspector  of  police  received  them.  The 
few  who  had  been  admitted  within  the  barriers  were 
evidently  ashamed  of  what  had  been  done,  but  quite 
unable  to  apologise  for  it.  The  inspector  put  it  down 
to  the  hooligans. 

"We  breed  too  many  of  them  in  these  days,  sir," 
he  said,  "the  country  finds  it  out  when  there's  hard 
times,  and  God  knows  they're  hard  enough  now.  It 
must  have  been  set  afire  after  Mr.  Gedding  had  locked 
it  up  for  the  day.  There  were  flames  as  tall  as  chim- 
neys coming  out  of  the  roof  when  I  was  called." 

This  was  a  man  who  took  tragedy  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  would  have  used  the  same  words  if  St. 
Paul's  had  been  burned.  When  asked  if  the  incendiary 
were  taken,  he  replied  that  he  was  not,  but  that  acting 


AFTER  THE  DEBACLE  255 

upon  "information  received,"  he  hoped  to  make  an 
arrest  before  morning.  His  anxiety  for  the  "young 
lady"  was  real,  and  he  advised  that  she  should  return 
immediately  to  her  home. 

"Now  that  there's  this  spirit  abroad,  I'll  answer  for 
nothing  at  all,"  he  said;  "you'd  be  better  the  other 
side  of  Aldgate,  and  that's  certain.  There's  nothing 
but  a  pack  of  foreign  cut-throats  in  the  streets  to- 
night, and  no  man  is  safe.  Just  you  take  my  advice, 
sir,  and  come  back  in  the  morning,  when  they've  had 
time  to  cool  awhile.  This  is  no  place  for  the  young 
lady,  whatever  it  may  be  for  us." 

Silvester  agreed  with  him,  but  he  found  it  impos- 
sible to  influence  Gabrielle.  She  seemed  strangely 
moved  by  the  melancholy  glamour  of  the  scene;  by 
the  savage  figures  shadowed  in  the  after-glow ;  by  the 
reddening  skeleton  of  the  Temple  which  stood  up  so 
proudly  a  few  hours  ago.  To-morrow  there  would  be 
but  a  pit  of  ashes,  where  to-day  a  sacrifice  had  been 
offered  to  the  nation.  She  suffered  profoundly  when 
she  surveyed  this  wreck  of  her  handiwork,  and  it 
seemed  to  her  that  her  work  among  the  people  was 
done. 

"Let  us  go  on  to  the  old  Temple,"  she  said  with 
what  resignation  she  could  command,  "if  they  have 
burned  that  also,  then  I  will  return  with  you,  father, 
for  I  can  do  nothing  more." 

Silvester  disliked  the  idea  of  it.  He  would  have 
been  pleased  enough  to  have  been  back  in  his  little 
study  at  Hampstead,  where  he  might  have  composed 
a  sermon  upon  "ingratitude,"  as  an  obstacle;  but  he 
had  long  been  schooled  to  obedience  when  his  daughter 


256  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

commanded,  and  so  they  re-entered  the  cab  and  drove 
to  the  old  Temple.  A  silent  multitude  watched  them 
as  they  went,  but  none  cheered.  The  bitter  cold  night 
either  sent  people  to  their  houses,  where  they  might 
shiver  upon  heaps  of  rags,  or  it  drove  them  to  the 
open  street  where  many  a  huge  fire  had  been  kindled 
that  the  outcasts  might  warm  themselves.  Hereabouts 
you  would  often  see  a  whole  family  lying  upon  a  filthy 
pallet  of  straw,  and  so  huddled  together  for  warmth 
that  it  had  the  appearance  of  some  fearsome  animal 
which  had  crawled  from  the  darkness  to  the  light. 
The  shadows  gave  pictures  more  terrible,  husbanding 
the  dying  and  the  dead.  Starvation  abetted  the  rigour 
of  the  winter.  Nature  waged  war  here  in  these  silent 
alleys,  and  no  sound  attended  her  stealthy  victories, 
which  were  multitudinous. 

In  London  beyond  "the  gate"  there  were  other 
anxieties,  but  these  poor  people  knew  nothing  of  them. 
War  and  its  menace :  the  chimera  of  fabled  foes  cross- 
ing the  black  ice  in  endless  columns ;  cannon  rumbling 
where  ships  had  sailed;  England  no  longer  an  island, 
her  ramparts  of  blue  waters  gathered  up;  her  gates 
thrown  open  to  any  who  would  affront  her — if  the 
West  End  discussed  all  this  covertly  and  as  though 
afraid,  the  East  knew  nothing  of  it.  Here  the  dan- 
ger was  not  of  to-morrow,  but  of  to-night !  The  peril, 
ever  present,  fell  upon  them  now  at  the  bidding  of 
the  natural  law.  For  the  first  time  since  the  outcasts 
of  the  world  had  found  sanctuary  beyond  Aldgate, 
their  city  of  refuge  had  been  unable  to  feed  them. 
And  now  hunger  bade  them  go  forth  to  the  land  of 
promise,  so  near,  so  rich  in  all  they  needed.  Shall  we 


AFTER  THE  DEBACLE  257 

wonder  that  starving  mobs  gathered  in  every  square; 
that  the  courts  were  full  of  desperadoes  with  murder 
in  their  eyes;  that  even  the  honest  would  listen  and 
admit  that  this  or  that  might  be  done? 

Upon  the  other  side  were  the  police  and  the  soldiers, 
many  thousands  hidden  prudently  from  the  eyes  of 
the  mobs.  If  the  Government  could  do  little  to  feed 
these  people,  it  could,  at  least,  protect  the  people  who 
were  fed  for  the  time  being,  at  any  rate.  Commanded 
by  the  "man  of  iron,"  the  cavalry  were  marched  hither 
and  thither,  but  always  to  form  a  cordon  about  the 
dangerous  areas.  Special  drafts  of  constables  came 
from  the  distant  suburbs  to  overawe  poor  devils  whose 
greatest  crime  was  their  hunger.  Stepney  was  be- 
sieged by  authority,  fearful  that  men  would  go  out 
to  get  the  children  bread,  and  ashamed  that  bread 
should  be  withheld.  Here  had  Nature's  war  become 
one  of  a  civil  people,  paying  a  debt  they  long  had  owed 
to  their  exacting  creditors,  "Want  of  Forethought 
and  Economy."  The  sword  of  a  foreign  enemy  would 
have  been  the  lesser  peril — it  was  evident  enough  now 
to  everyone! 

Through  such  scenes,  by  the  dark  and  dangerous 
streets,  went  Gabrielle  to  the  ancient  Temple.  She 
found  it  occupied  by  busy  missionaries,  who  knew 
neither  night  nor  day  while  the  work  of  mercy  must 
go  on.  In  and  out  they  went  as  they  returned  from 
some  mean  house,  or  set  off  for  another.  Dawn  found 
them  still  at  work,  the  terrible  dawn  when  the  country 
waited  for  the  verdict  in  Nature's  court,  and  even  the 
dullest  had  come  to  know  that  this  was  an  island  king- 
dom. 


258  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

III 

Faber  and  Trevelle  reached  Stepney  early  on  the 
morning*  of  the  following  day.  Gabrielle  was  still  at 
the  Temple  and  while  she  had  expected  the  visit  of  the 
resistless  "inspiration,"  as  she  had  come  to  call  Tre- 
velle, John  Faber's  advent  was  unlocked  for. 

"We  heard  you  were  burned  out,  and  came  along 
at  once,"  he  said,  in  the  best  of  humours.  "I  guess 
you'll  want  all  the  masons  you've  got,  Miss  Silvester, 
and  want  'em  on  time.  That  old  factory  should  take 
five  days  to  put  up  if  you  go  the  right  way  about  it. 
If  it  were  me,  I'd  leave  it  where  it  is,  and  make  'em 
toe  the  line  among  the  ashes.  That  would  teach  them 
to  behave  themselves  next  time.  You  can't  burn  the 
house  that's  been  burned  already,  and  if  they  want 
to  warm  themselves,  coal  is  cheaper.  Say,  write  that 
upon  what's  left  of  the  door,  and  you'll  have  the 
laugh  on  them,  sure!" 

She  was  chagrined  at  the  tone  of  it,  but  none  the 
less,  she  seemed  to  understand  that  he  wished  her  well. 

"If  we  rebuild,  where  is  the  money  to  come  from  ?" 
she  asked  him,  helplessly.  "And  what  is  the  good  of 
it  if  there  is  no  bread  to  give  the  people?  My  father 
says  the  end  is  coming.  What  have  we  to  hope  for 
if  that  is  the  case?" 

"You  have  to  hope  for  many  things,  my  dear 
young  lady — the  weather  for  one  of  them.  Your 
good  father  is  a  little  premature,  maybe,  and  is  prone 
to  believe  what  the  newspapers  tell  him.  The  end 
is  coming  sure  enough.  It's  not  the  end  he  looks  for 
by  a  long  way." 


AFTER  THE  DEBACLE  259 

He  glanced  at  Trevelle,  and  they  smiled  together. 
There  had  been  great  news  from  Queenstown  that 
morning.  Why  should  they  withhold  it  from  her? 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Trevelle,  "the  strike  in  America 
is  over  and  the  wheat  ships  are  sailing.  You  read 
your  evening  paper  to-night  and  see  what  it  says.  We 
have  brains  amongst  us  and  they  are  busy.  That's 
what  we've  been  asking  for  all  along,  in  peace  or 
war,  not  the  dreamers  but  the  brains.  And  we've 
got  'em,  Miss  Silvester,  we've  got  'em!" 

He  snapped  his  fingers,  an  habitual  gesture,  and 
seemed  thereby  to  imply  that  he,  Rupert  Trevelle, 
had  laid  down  a  doctrine  which  henceforth  must  be 
the  salvation  of  the  British  people.  Gabrielle,  how- 
ever, heard  him  a  little  coldly  though  she  was  full  of 
wonder. 

"I  did  not  think  you  were  so  interested  in  this 
matter,"  she  said.  And  then,  "Will  you,  please,  tell 
me  why  the  men  in  Liverpool  are  striking  still?" 
When  the  scientific  exposition  had  left  her  more  in 
doubt  than  ever,  she  asked  of  her  work  once  more. 
"Then  it  is  no  good  going  on  here  if  the  wheat  will 
come  in,"  she  said;  "our  task  will  be  finished  then, 
will  it  not,  Mr.  Faber?"  He  shook  his  head  at  that 
and  told  her  of  his  fears. 

"It  will  be  a  slow  business.  I  advise  you  to  stand 
by  yet  awhile.  If  we  get  the  cargoes  slowly,  as  we 
shall  have  to  do,  the  price  of  wheat  will  still  stand 
high,  and  that's  no  good  to  these  people  at  all.  Take 
my  advice  and  go  on  with  what  you  are  doing.  The 
country  owes  you  something,  sure,  and  it  is  just  begin- 
ning to  find  that  out.  Did  you  see  your  pictures  in 


260 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

the  halfpenny  illustrateds,  this  morning?  I  like  those 
fine;  I've  got  'em  here  somewhere,  and  I  mean  to 
keep  'em." 

Trevelle  thought  it  wise  to  move  away  at  this 
point,  and  they  were  left  together  in  the  great  bare 
hall  of  the  Temple,  whither  the  people  would  soon  be 
flocking  for  bread.  A  winter  sun  shone  cold  and 
clear  through  the  wide  window  above  them;  then 
voices  echoed  strangely  beneath  the  vault  as  though 
they  were  tricked  by  a  mutual  self-restraint  to  an 
artificiality  of  tone  foreign  to  them.  This  man  had 
come  to  love  this  woman  passionately,  and  he  was 
about  to  go  to  his  own  country,  never  to  return. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  surprised  and  delighted  when 
she  beheld  the  pictures,  "what  a  dreadful  guy  they 
have  made  me!  Now,  don't  you  think  this  sort  of 
thing  ought  to  be  stopped?"  He  shook  his  head  as 
though  she  had  disappointed  him. 

"I  never  knew  a  woman  yet  whose  picture  was  in 
a  newspaper  who  didn't  say  they  had  guyed  her.  The 
thing  seems  well  enough  to  me,  and  I  must  keep  it  for 
a  better.  Say,  now,  you  know,  I'm  going  away  the 
first  mail  that  sails.  Will  you  give  me  a  better  por- 
trait or  must  I  take  this  one?" 

Her  spirit  fell  though  she  did  not  dare  to  tell  him 
why.  He  was  going,  and  the  building  her  hope  had 
raised  must  come  crashing  down.  With  this  was  her 
feeling  that  in  some  way  he  had  failed  her  in  the 
critical  hours.  There  were  men  who  cried  out  upon 
his  astuteness,  made  manifest  in  the  hour  of  crisis, 
but  she  had  never  heeded  them. 

"If  you  really  think  that  you  will  remember  my 


AFTER  THE  DEBACLE  261 

name  when  you  are  in  New  York  again —  Her 

hesitation  was  the  complement  of  the  obvious,  and  he 
smiled  again. 

"It  will  be  a  new  name.  Let's  hear  how  it  sounds. 
Mrs.  Harry  Lassett!  Well,  I  don't  like  the  sound  of 
it  overmuch,  but  I  suppose  it's  not  my  say.  The 
wedding,  I  think,  is  for  next  month,  is  it  not  ?" 

"For  the  week  before  Lent.  You  will  not  build 
me  a  Temple  now;  it  would  be  a  mockery!" 

"Why,  as  to  that,  if  it's  a  Temple  for  brains,  I 
don't  know  that  we  mightn't  build  it  after  all.  That's 
what  your  country  needs,  Miss  Gabrielle.  All  the 
brains  at  work  to  educate  the  people.  Sentiment  will 
carry  you  a  very  little  way  upon  the  road.  Let  your 
Temple  go  up  to  the  men  with  brains." 

"Ah!"  she  said,  "I  think  we  are  all  beginning  to 
understand  that.  Even  my  father  says  that  universal 
peace  will  be  won  by  the  intellect  not  by  the  heart 
of  the  nation.  You  will  see  him  before  you  go,  of 
course?" 

"I  shall  try  to;  it  will  be  a  misfortune  for  me  if 
I  do  not." 

"AndMaryska?" 

"Ah,  there  you  get  me  into  harbour  at  once.  I've 
been  thinking  over  what  Mr.  Trevelle  has  told  me 
about  your  difficulties,  and  I  guess  I'd  better  see  you 
out  of  them  by  taking  Maryska  to  New  York.  Does 
that  seem  to  you  a  wise  thing  to  do  ?" 

Her  face  became  very  pale,  her  thoughts  seemed 
distant  when  she  said: 

"Quite  wise;  she  will  never  be  well  in  England." 

"Or  happy?" 


262 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"Ah,  who  can  say  just  what  happiness  is?" 

"True  enough,"  he  replied.  "We  look  up  and  down 
the  street  for  it,  and  sometimes  it  is  on  our  own  door- 
steps all  the  time.  We  say  that  we  were  happy  yester- 
day, and  talk  of  happy  days  to  come  when  to-day  may 
be  the  happiest  of  our  lives.  Some  of  us  are  not 
born  for  that  ticket,  and  it's  human  nature  which 
shuts  us  out  from  it.  Who  knows,  you  and  I  may  be 
among  the  number." 

"An  auspicious  thing  to  say,  remembering  that  I 
am  to  be  married  next  month." 

"Pardon  me,  I  should  not  have  said  it.  It's  like 
one  of  your  Lord  Salisbury's  'blazing  indiscretions.' 
You  are  taking  the  line  which  your  welfare  dictates 
that  you  shall  take.  You  have  thought  this  out  for 
some  years,  I  don't  doubt,  and  you  say,  there  is  just 
one  man  in  the  whole  world  for  you.  Well,  that's  a 
bid  for  happiness  any  way.  I'll  put  a  motto  to  it 
when  I  cable  you  on  your  wedding  day." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  she  took  it.  Their  eyes 
met,  and  he  knew  that  he  read  her  story. 

"The  Temple,"  he  said;  "I  guess  you'll  want  me 
to  help  you  open  that.  If  you  do,  I'll  come." 

"Shall  I  write  to  Charleston?" 

"Yes,  to  Maryska  de  Paleologue,  who  is  going  to 
keep  house  for  me." 

Her  hand  fell  from  his  and  she  said  no  more.  The 
doors  of  the  Temple  were  already  open  that  the  hun- 
gry might  enter  in. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   SHADOW   IS   LIFTED 


When  a  woman  has  drifted  into  an  engagement  im- 
posed upon  her  by  years  of  friendship,  it  is  rare 
that  she  has  the  courage  to  break  the  bonds,  however 
irksome  she  may  find  them. 

Gabrielle  knew  that  she  was  drifting  into  this  mar- 
riage with  Harry  Lassett,  and  yet  her  will  was  par- 
alysed. The  baser  appeal  had  passed  as  a  menacing 
wave  upon  a  strange  sea,  and  all  that  was  left  was  the 
troubled  waters  of  the  seemingly  inevitable.  Her  love- 
making  had  been  so  many  hours  of  a  dead  passion, 
which  no  pretence  could  reanimate.  She  had  posed 
as  the  fond  mistress  of  a  man  whom  her  coldness 
gradually  repelled  until  his  pride  revolted.  Held  in 
his  arms,  treated  still  as  the  child,  kissed  upon  her 
lips,  all  her  sentiment  appealed  to  by  his  ardour,  she 
tried  to  say  that  this  was  her  destiny,  beyond  which 
she  might  not  look.  Hundreds  had  drifted  as  she  into 
that  desert  of  the  waters  where  no  tide  of  life  emerges 
nor  harbours  of  a  man's  love  are  to  be  found.  She 
had  been  tricked  by  circumstance,  and  delusion  must 
be  paid  for  by  the  years. 

Be  it  said  that  this  was  chiefly  an  aftermath  of  the 
263 


264 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

busy  weeks.  While  the  shadow  lay  upon  England, 
the  fame  of  her  work  had  blinded  her  to  the  true 
meaning  of  the  promise  Harry  Lassett  had  won  from 
her  in  an  irresponsible  hour.  Swiftly,  upon  the  tide 
of  the  national  misfortune,  she  had  risen  to  notoriety; 
been  applauded  in  the  public  press  and  named  as  a 
heroine  for  her  work  at  Stepney.  When  that  work 
was  ended ;  when  England  awoke  one  day  to  the  thun- 
ders of  a  thanksgiving  more  real  than  any  in  her  story, 
then  she  learned  for  the  first  time  by  what  means  her 
triumph  had  been  won,  and  whose  hand  had  guided 
her  through  the  darkness. 

The  letter  came  from  Paris,  one  of  the  very  first 
the  mails  brought  in.  Well  she  remembered  after- 
wards how  that  there  had  been  a  bruit  of  the  passing 
of  the  frost  many  days  before  the  deliverance  came. 
Crowds  who  had  learned  to  say  that  the  American  en- 
gineer, John  Faber,  had  been  the  master  mind  during 
the  terrible  weeks;  that  his  were  the  wheat  ships  now 
coming  into  the  ports;  that  his  genius  and  his  money 
had  accomplished  miracles — these  crowds  heard  with 
new  hope  of  his  promise  that  the  weather  was  break- 
ing, and  the  end  at  hand.  Waiting  patiently  during 
the  momentous  hours,  London  slept  one  night  through 
a  bitter  frost  to  awake  next  day  to  a  warm  south 
wind  and  a  burning  sunshine.  Never  shone  sun  so 
kindly  upon  a  people  which  mourned  its  heritage. 
The  oldest  became  as  children  in  that  hour  of  deliver- 
ance. The  church  bells  rang  for  a  peace,  not  with 
men,  but  with  God. 

The  island  home!  God,  what  it  had  meant  to 
them  all  in  the  past!  And  they  had  dwelt  in  igno- 


THE  SHADOW  IS  LIFTED  865 

ranee ;  blind  to  their  possession ;  regardless  of  the  good 
sea  which  sheltered  them ;  of  the  ramparts  which  were 
their  salvation.  Now,  as  in  a  flash,  they  perceived! 
the  truth:  the  gifts  were  returned  to  them;  the  mean- 
est knew  that  he  was  free.  In  a  frenzy  which  the  cir- 
cumstances may  have  justified,  men  took  train  for  the 
seaports  and  watched  the  passing  of  the  ice.  They; 
stood  upon  the  high  cliffs  and  beheld  the  sun  shining 
upon  the  open  waters;  lakes  of  golden  light  at  the 
heart  of  the  ocean — a  widening  girdle  of  security 
their  country  had  put  on.  The  loftiest  imagination 
could  not  soar  to  the  true  heights  of  this  revelation,  or 
embrace  it  wholly  in  the  earlier  hours.  The  dullest 
were  dumb  for  very  fear  that  the  Almighty  would  but 
trick  them  after  all. 

In  London,  it  was  as  though  the  whole  people  took 
one  great  breath  together.  Just  as  upon  the  conclusion 
of  a  peace,  the  church  bells  were  rung  and  the  City 
illuminated.  Vast  crowds  poured  from  the  houses, 
and  gave  themselves  up  to  the  most  childish  manifesta- 
tions of  joy.  There  were  scenes  to  disgrace  the  story; 
scenes  to  lift  it  to  great  nobility.  But  yesterday,  it  had 
seemed  to  some  of  these  revellers  that  they  were  no 
longer  the  inhabitants  of  an  island  which  the  strong- 
est power  would  hesitate  to  assail.  All  the  tradition 
and  glory  of  the  kingdom  had  gone  out  of  it — to  re- 
turn in  a  twinkling  at  the  passing  of  the  frost. 

Gabrielle  could  hear  the  church  bells  ringing  in 
Hampstead,  but  the  theme  of  their  chime  was  less  to 
her  than  the  letter  which  Eva  Achon  had  written  to 
her  from  Paris — a  girlish,  gossiping  letter,  full  of  in- 
consequential chatter  about  absurd  people,  and  ending 


266 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

ever  upon  the  tonic  chord  of  the  masculine  scale. 
Eva's  Odyssey  had  been  full  of  event,  but  she  had 
returned  to  Paris  as  a  maiden  Helen,  torn  by  imagina- 
tion only  from  the  phantom  bridegroom  of  her 
dreams.  Incidentally,  and  as  though  it  had  to  do  with 
a  fair  in  a  remote  country,  she  spoke  of  the  great  strike 
and  of  the  man  whose  name  was  upon  every  tongue. 
"My  father  thinks  very  highly  of  Mr.  John  Faber," 
she  wrote.  "He  would  very  much  like  to  work  with 
him.  I  wrote  to  Rupert  Trevelle  about  it,  but  he 
seems  too  busy  to  remember  me  now.  It  was  so  like  an 
American  to  spend  all  that  money  on  charity  and  leave 
the  people  to  think  he  was  a  scoundrel.  The  truth 
came  out  from  Mr.  Morris,  who  made  what  he  called 
a  'great  story'  and  sent  it  to  America.  I  am  sending 
you  the  cutting  from  the  New  York  Herald — it  has 
also  been  in  the  English  Times,  I  think.  All  the  Eng- 
lish people  here  are  gone  mad  to  know  Mr.  Faber 
now — they  say  he  is  one  of  the  cleverest  men  in  the 
world,  and  one  of  the  kindest.  All  the  same,  my  father 
says  his  brains  are  better  than  his  money,  and  when 
you  come  to  think  of  it,  I  suppose  that  must  always  be 
the  case.  Even  he,  rich  as  he  is,  could  do  little  for 
that  poor  artist,  Louis  de  Paleologue,  and  now  there 
comes  the  news  from  Montey  that  Claudine's  fiance 
has  been  terribly  hurt  at  the  aviation  meeting  there, 
and  is  hardly  expected  to  live.  So  you  see,  dearest 
Gabrielle,  his  money  seems  to  bring  ill-luck  to  every- 
one; but  when  he  works,  there  is  no  one  like  him. 
If  only  he  would  help  father,  how  much  he  could  do 
for  the  world!  But,  I  suppose,  he  is  going  back  to 
America,  and  we  shall  see  him  no  more. 


THE  SHADOW  IS  LIFTED  267 

"And  that  reminds  me.  Isn't  it  provoking  how 
many  people  we  never  see  any  more!  I  have  had  a 
delicious  flirtation  here  with  a  fair  man  whose  name 
I  don't  know.  We  passed  each  other  on  the  stairs  of 
the  hotel  nearly  every  morning,  and  one  day  I  dropped 
my  bag,  and  he  picked  it  up  and  spoke  to  me.  I  was 
frightened  to  ask  anyone  who  he  was,  and  I  never 
saw  him  in  the  salle  a  manger,  but  he  used  to  pass 
me  on  the  stairs — oh,  quite  six  or  seven  times  a  day 
after  that;  and  we  had  such  a  jolly  time.  Then,  sud- 
denly, he  went  away,  never  said  a  word  to  me  or  wrote 
any  letter.  I  shall  never  see  him  any  more — mais  tout 
bien  ou  rien,  if  it  were  always  to  be  on  the  stairs, 
I  am  glad  that  he  is  gone." 

II 

A  tinkling  gong  called  Gabrielle  to  lunch,  and  she 
found  her  father  alone  in  the  dining-room.  A  mutual 
question  as  to  Maryska's  whereabouts  revealed  the 
fact  that  she  had  not  been  seen  since  breakfast  and 
that  none  of  the  servants  had  news  of  her.  Once  or 
twice  before,  when  Harry  Lassett  had  been  cajoled 
into  some  wild  excursion,  Maryska  had  spent  most  of 
the  day  out  of  doors;  but  both  Silvester  and  his  daugh- 
ter seemed  to  think  that  this  was  not  such  an  occasion, 
and  they  were  troubled  accordingly. 

"I  really  fear  that  it  is  time  that  Mr.  Faber  took 
charge  of  her,"  Silvester  said,  as  he  sat  down  wearily. 
"She  is  very  self-willed,  and  we  have  no  hold  over 
her.  Would  Harry  be  responsible  for  this,  do  you 
think?" 


268  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

"How  can  he  be  ?  Is  he  not  at  Brighton  ?  I  hardly 
think  that  even  he  would  keep  the  child  out  without 
a  word  to  us." 

Silvester  looked  at  her  shrewdly.  That  "even  he" 
suggested  a  train  of  thought  which  had  been  forced 
upon  him  more  than  once  latterly. 

"Do  you  think  it  is  wise  for  Harry  to  take  her 
out  at  all,  Gabrielle?"  he  asked.  "We  treat  her 
as  a  child,  but  is  she  one  really?  I  hope  our  confidence 
is  not  misplaced.  We  should  incur  a  very  grave 
responsibility  if  it  were." 

Gabrielle  did  not  like  Maryska,  and  was  hardly  one 
to  conceal  her  prejudices. 

"We  should  never  have  consented  to  receive  her, 
father.  It  was  all  done  in  such  a  hurry;  I  think  we 
were  the  victims  of  our  own  good  nature.  Who  is 
she?  Where  does  she  come  from?  A  gipsy  girl, 
perhaps,  and  one  who  dislikes  our  country,  and  us. 
It  was  sentiment  upon  Mr.  Faber's  part — altruism  at 
our  expense.  Of  course,  he  talks  of  taking  her  ulti- 
mately to  New  York.  But  is  he  likely  to  do  that? 
Do  you  believe  that?" 

"I  must  believe  it  or  say  that  he  has  not  written 
the  truth.  There  was  a  letter  from  him  this  morning 
— you  will  find  it  on  my  study  table.  He  wishes  us 
to  keep  her  at  least  for  a  time  and  until  he  can  make 
some  provision  for  her  in  America.  It  will  be  possible 
for  him  to  sail  to-day,  he  thinks,  if  Sir  Jules  Achon 
arrives  from  Cherbourg.  He  appears  to  want  to  see 
Sir  Jules  very  much  before  he  goes." 

"Then  Maryska  remains,  father?" 

"For  the  present,  yes." 


THE  SHADOW  IS  LIFTED  269 

"And  that  is  the  last  we  are  to  see  of  our  friend? 
Well,  our  castles  come  tumbling  down,  at  any  rate. 
We  have  been  his  builders,  but  he  leaves  us  a  wretched 
house.  I  think  you  would  be  wiser  to  go  to  Yonkers." 

"I  think  so,  too— when  you  and  Harry  are  mar- 
ried." 

"Need  Harry  and  I  enter  into  the  matter?  I  am 
thinking  all  the  time  of  the  way  these  clever  men  make 
less  clever  people  their  dupes.  Sometimes  I  say  that 
what  I  need  to  make  a  success  of  my  life  is  the  help 
of  a  man  of  genius.  I  felt  it  every  day  when  Mr. 
Faber  was  here.  It  was  to  stand  upon  a  rock  and 
laugh  when  the  sea  flowed  all  around.  And  you  need 
it  too,  father.  Think  of  all  that  good  men  might  do 
in  the  world  if  they  had  brains  such  as  his  behind 
them.  He  preaches  all  his  sermons  from  that  text. 
Brains  will  save  the  people,  the  country,  even  religion, 
I  am  sick  of  sentiment ;  it  accomplishes  nothing.  \Ve 
have  meetings  and  speakers,  and  conferences  and  dis- 
cussions, and  the  world  just  goes  laughing  by,  like  a 
boy  who  passes  the  open  door  of  a  schoolroom.  What 
have  we  done  since  we  left  America?  How  have  we 
helped  our  great  cause?  You  know  what  the  answer 
must  be.  We  have  done  less  than  nothing,  while  a 
stranger  has  made  our  people  think  and  learn." 

He  was  much  taken  aback  by  her  outburst,  and  a 
little  at  a  loss.  A  man  of  high  ideals,  he  knew  how 
hopeless  was  the  task  of  uplifting  the  people,  and  yet 
hope  and  endeavour  were  the  breath  of  life  to  him. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "I  won't  say  that  we  have  done 
nothing.  This  dreadful  winter  is  just  what  has  been 
needed  to  make  the  people  think.  A  reaction  will 


270 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

follow,  and  we  shall  go  to  them  with  a  message  of 
peace  they  cannot  resist.  I  am  sure  the  truth  will 
come  home  to  all  now.  It  will  be  easy  to  say  that  God 
Almighty  did  not  create  mankind  for  the  shambles. 
What  astonishes  me,  Gabrielle,  is  that  in  this  twen- 
tieth century  it  should  be  necessary  to  preach  such  a 
doctrine  at  all.  When  you  consider  what  universal 
peace  would  mean  in  every  home  in  the  country,  what 
it  would  do  for  the  poorest,  how  it  would  help  the  chil- 
dren, I  am  altogether  at  a  loss.  The  thing  is  an  in- 
credible anachronism  giving  the  lie  direct  to  Christ 
and  His  gospel.  And  we  are  powerless  to  cope  with 
it;  we  seem  to  address  those  whose  hearts  are  of 
stone." 

"Then  why  do  you  address  them?  That  is  just 
what  Mr.  Faber  asks.  Why  not  turn  to  those  who 
can  lead  the  people?  If  the  great  names  of  Europe 
and  America  were  behind  you,  the  millennium  would 
come.  I  myself  would  hope  more  from  two  such  men 
as  Sir  Jules  Achon  and  John  Faber  than  from  all  the 
sermons  in  the  world.  But  I  have  become  a  very 
practical  person,  father.  I  think  sometimes  I  am 
growing  terribly  masculine." 

"You  always  used  to  be,  Gabrielle.  I  remember 
when  you  were  the  greatest  tomboy  in  Hampstead. 
That,  by  the  way,  was  before  your  engagement  to 
Harry.  Do  you  know,  my  dear  girl,  I  wonder  some- 
times if  marriage  is  your  destiny  at  all." 

"If  not  marriage,  what  then,  father?" 

"Public  work.  The  practice  of  the  ideas  you  have 
just  been  pleading  to  me." 

Gabrielle  shook  her  head.      She  spoke  with  little 


THE  SHADOW  IS  LIFTED  271 

restraint,  and  in  a  way  that  astonished  him  altogether. 

"I  don't  agree  with  you.  I  believe  in  my  heart 
that  I  am  destined  to  love  and  marriage.  If  it  is  not 
so,  I  may  do  something  mad  some  day.  Sometimes 
I  long  to  get  away  from  all  this;  but  it  must  be  with 
a  man  who  can  lead  me.  I  shall  never  marry  Harry— 
I  wonder  that  I  have  not  told  him  so  before.  Per- 
haps I  should  have  done  so  had  it  not  been  for  these 
awful  weeks.  Do  you  know,  father,  that  I  find  life  in 
opposition  to  every  convention  you  have  taught  me 
since  I  was  a  child?  There  are  no  fairy  godmothers 
in  the  world.  Our  guardian  angels  might  be  gam- 
blers who  throw  us  headlong  into  the  stream  and  make 
wagers  about  our  condition  when  we  come  out.  We 
have  to  decide  the  most  momentous  questions  when 
we  are  still  babies  and  understand  nothing  about 
them.  In  the  end  it  comes  just  to  what  Mr.  Faber 
says,  our  brains  make  or  mar  us ;  and  neither  you  nor 
I  have  any  brains  to  speak  of.  Let  us  leave  it  there, 
father.  I  am  growing  really  anxious  about  the  child, 
and  must  know  the  truth.  If  she  is  not  .with  the 
Bensons,  I  don't  know  where  she  is." 

He  assented,  moved  to  some  real  anxiety  by  her 
obvious  alarm.  They  wrote  a  note  and  dispatched  it 
to  the  house  of  their  friends  the  Bensons,  who  had 
shown  much  kindness  to  Maryska,  but  the  afternoon 
had  merged  into  evening  before  any  answer  was 
brought  to  them. 


THE  MARIGOLDS  TO  THE  SUN 


Maryska  had  been  out  and  about  London  with 
Harry  Lassett  upon  more  than  one  occasion,  and  this 
had  been  to  the  knowledge  and  with  the  approval  both 
of  Silvester  and  of  Gabrielle.  Both  had  known  Harry 
for  many  years,  and  he  had  become  almost  as  the  son 
of  the  house.  Their  own  duties  carried  them  so  much 
abroad  during  the  terrible  days  that  they  were  well 
content  when  the  young  man  did  what  he  could  to 
amuse  the  child  during  the  long  hours;  and  they 
used  to  hear  of  the  mutual  escapades  with  the  inter- 
est they  would  have  bestowed  upon  two  children  come 
home  from  school  and  eager  for  the  holidays. 

Here  their  trust  went  out  wholly  upon  their  own 
plane  of  honor  and  convention.  The  boy  had  been 
to  a  public  school  and  to  Cambridge.  He  was  of  a 
type  which  three  hundred  years  of  a  great  tradition 
have  moulded  finally  and  left  as  a  corner-stone  of  the 
national  society.  A  firm  faith  in  the  blessings  of  do- 
mestic freedom  had  always  been  characteristic  of  Sil- 
vester's teaching.  Trust  your  sons,  and  they  will  not 
fail  you,  he  had  said. 

But,  if  he  knew  that  Harry  had  taken  Maryska  to 
272 


THE  MARIGOLDS  TO  THE  SUN        273 

such  places  as  a  young  woman  of  her  age  (and  one 
who  was  a  stranger  to  the  City)  might  visit,  he  would 
have  been  astounded  and  dismayed  had  he  known  that 
she  had  gone  to  Harry's  lodgings,  and  latterly  had 
made  a  practice  of  visiting  him  there.  This  was  con- 
cealed by  both  as  a  secret  between  them  of  which  no 
whisper  must  be  heard.  It  was  the  first  scene  of  an 
act  of  drama  speedily  to  follow.  Maryska  would 
never  forget  that  day.  They  had  been  to  Madame 
Tussaud's,  where  a  wretched  group  of  people  were 
sheltered  from  the  cold,  and  tried  to  forget  the  shadow 
which  lay  upon  the  City.  Returning  towards  five 
o'clock,  Maryska  had  told  him  that  she  knew  the  truth 
about  England  at  last,  and  that  it  was  the  arctic 
land  of  which  her  dead  father  had  told  her. 

"They  come  here  in  little  ships,"  she  said,  "and 
it  is  to  find  le  Pole  Nord.  There  was  a  cafe  of  that 
name  in  Dijon,  and  once  when  we  were  very  poor  I 
danced  there  and  got  money  for  him.  He  beat  me 
when  he  found  it  out,  and  that  night  I  hated  him, 
and  went  back  to  dance  once  more.  That  is  what  a 
girl  should  do  when  a  man  beats  her!  Ah!  I  shall 
run  away  from  you  yet,  bete  sauvage" 

He  laughed  in  a  great  boyish  way,  and  drew  her 
arm  the  tighter  within  his  own.  How  good  it  seemed 
to  have  these  bright  eyes  looking  up  into  his  own,  to 
hear  the  little  savage  prattling,  and  to  know  that  she 
was  happy.  Though  the  kingdom  of  England  had 
perished  that  night,  these  two  would  not  have  cared 
a  scudo.  The  eternal  voice  of  youth  called  them,  and 
they  bent  to  it  as  "marigolds  to  the  sun." 

"Do  you  think  I  shall  beat  you,  Maryska?    Is  that 


274 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

in  your  head?  You  are  a  rum  little  devil,  I  must 
say!" 

She  took  it  rather  as  a  compliment. 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  will  do  when  you  are 
angry.  The  English  are  difficult  to  understand.  I 
think  they  are  afraid  of  women.  Mr.  Silvester  runs 
away  when  I  stamp  my  foot.  I  have  heard  him  shut 
his  door  when  I  come  down  the  stairs.  Bon  Dieu! 
what  a  cat  of  a  man — and  he  is  a  priest,  and  the  peo- 
ple do  not  know  that  he  is  afraid  of  women!  Shall 
we  go  to  your  lodgings,  Harry — shall  I  make  you 
some  coffee  there?  It  will  be  ripping, — and  they 
would  be  so  angry  if  they  knew.  Let  us  hurry  on,  for 
it  is  late — to  your  lodgings,  I  say." 

He  was  a  good  deal  taken  aback,  and  argued  with 
her  while  she  trotted  by  his  side;  all  her  strength 
returned,  all  her  youth  triumphant.  To  his  rooms! 
That  was  a  new  proposition,  to  be  sure.  And  what 
would  Gabrielle  say  if  she  knew  of  it? 

"Look  here,  Maryska,  people  will  talk  if  you  come 
to  my  lodgings !" 

"Will  they  not  talk  if  I  stop  away?" 

"They'll  say  rotten  things.  I  shouldn't  like  to  have 
them  said  about  you." 

"But,  Harry,  do  you  always  live  alone  in  your 
rooms  ?" 

"I  don't  take  ladies  there,  Maryska." 

She  was  amazed. 

"It  is  not  wicked  to  be  with  you  in  the  street,  then, 
but  wicked  in  your  rooms.  Ecco!  what  a  country! 
And  all  the  people  are  frozen  and  the  wind  eats  them 
up,  and  they  are  so  frightened  of  us  they  lock  us  out 


275 


of  their  lodgings.  How  he  would  have  laughed! 
Why,  all  the  ladies  in  Ragusa  came  to  his  room,  and 
he  would  sing  and  laugh  all  day.  It  was  not  wicked 
there!  He  would  not  have  done  it  when  I  was  with 
him,  if  it  had  been." 

He  tried  to  tell  her  that  countries  have  different 
customs,  and  that  what  is  done  in  the  south  may  not 
be  done  in  the  north  with  impunity.  But  she  was 
wholly  unconvinced,  and  the  spice  of  daring  being 
added  to  the  dish  of  her  thoughts,  she  led  him  insen- 
sibly towards  Holly  Place  and  not  towards  Well  Walk 
as  they  approached  Hampstead. 

"Just  to  see  what  this  wicked  place  is  like,  Harry. 
Surely,  I  may  stand  at  your  door  and  see  you  go  in? 
They  will  not  punish  me,  these  horrid  English,  for 
that.  Oh,  yes,  I  shall  stand  at  your  door  and  see 
you  go  in,  and  you  will  give  me  some  wine.  Do  you 
know  that  we  have  nothing  but  syrup  at  the  Silves- 
ters'? Oh,  mon  pauvre!  it  is  all  ice  inside  as  well  as 
out.  I  go  thirsty  all  day — there  was  wine  always 
when  he  was  alive,  and  now  there  is  none!  I  shall 
wait  upon  your  doorway  until  you  give  me  a  little 
wine,  Harry." 

This  idea  pleased  her  very  much,  and  she  danced 
and  sang  her  way  through  the  silent  streets  upon  it. 
Even  the  searching  cold  of  the  early  night  did  not 
affright  her,  nor  those  suggestions  of  loneliness  and 
isolation  which  usually  attended  her  journey  north- 
ward. She  was  going  to  see  Harry's  rooms  and  to 
drink  some  wine  when  she  got  there !  The  fact  that  he 
had  nothing  but  good  Scotch  whisky  did  not  enter 
into  her  calculations. 


276  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

As  for  Harry,  the  proposal  annoyed  him  at  the 
beginning,  but  grew  upon  his  sympathies  as  they  went. 
He  tried  to  follow  her  logic,  and  to  think  that  it  would 
be  absurd  to  treat  her  otherwise  than  as  a  child.  What 
harm  could  there  be  after  all,  and  was  not  her  view 
of  it  safer  than  his  own?  The  Silvesters  were  too 
busy  looking  after  impossible  people  in  the  East  End 
to  do  their  duty  by  this  little  exile.  What  forbade 
him  to  treat  her  as  a  sister?  Upon  this  there  came 
tumbling  many  a  picture  6i  that  bewitching  appari- 
tion as  sympathy  could  frame  it.  What  a  riot  she 
would  make  in  his  puny  lodging!  And  how  good  it 
would  be  to  watch  her  swinging  her  shapely  legs  on 
the  edge  of  his  pet  arm-chair!  She  filled  the  whole 
house  with  visions  already. 

They  marched  up  Heath  Street  forlorn,  wind- 
swept, and  deserted,  and  came  at  last  to  his  door.  He 
remembered  how  easily  she  took  possession  of  the 
place,  marching  here  and  there  as  though  she  were  its 
mistress — setting  this  or  that  in  order  instantly;  tidy- 
ing his  desk;  looking  reproachfully  upon  his  joyous 
negligence.  When  a  lean  landlady  asked  her  genially 
if  she  would  take  a  little  tea,  she  answered  immedi- 
ately, "No;  you  are  to  go  to  the  cafe  for  the  wine, 
Mr.  Harry  will  give  you  the  money!" 

And  Harry  gave  it,  as  though  it  was  the  best  of 
jokes,  and  one  in  which  he  must  now  play  his  part. 


II 

The  first  of  many  visits — how  soon  it  was  forgotten, 
that  others  more  intimate  should  be  remembered! 


THE  MARIGOLDS  TO  THE  SUN        277 

She  came  almost  every  day  during  the  final  week 
of  the  tribulation,  and  would  sit  with  him,  smoking1 
his  cigarettes  and  drinking  his  claret  as  though  his 
house  had  been  a  cafe!  He  discovered  that  she  had 
many  talents,  was  a  rare  dancer  of  the  wild,  uncouth 
dances  of  the  East,  and  could  draw  with  a  wonderful 
sense  of  portraiture.  Her  pictures  of  Silvester  should 
have  gone  to  Punch,  but  her  portraits  of  Gabrielle 
were  full  of  feeling.  One  day,  when  she  had  been 
sitting  upon  the  arm  of  his  chair,  using  his  broad  back 
for  an  easel,  she  asked  him,  a  propos  nothing  at  all, 
if  he  were  in  love,  and  when  he  looked  at  her  aston- 
ished she  seemed  insistent. 

"Are  you  in  love  with  her,  Harry?  Why  do  you 
not  answer  me?" 

"Why,  you  know  that  I  am.  Aren't  we  going  to  be 
married,  little  Gipsy?" 

She  put  the  pencil  down  and  laid  her  head  quietly 
upon  his  shoulder. 

"I  shall  never  believe  it;  you  do  not  love  her — • 
she  is  nothing  to  you." 

"Oh,  come,  Gipsy!    What  do  you  know  about  it?" 

She  sighed,  but  did  not  raise  her  head. 

"If  you  loved  Gabrielle  Silvester  you  would  not 
let  me  come  to  this  house." 

"Why  not,  Gipsy?" 

"Because  I  love  you,  Harry." 

So  there  it  was,  in  a  flash,  and  both  her  arms  were 
about  his  neck  and  her  lips  hot  upon  his  own.  She 
loved  him  and  had  no  shame  in  the  avowal.  Destiny 
gave  him  to  her.  The  little  wild  girl  who  came  God 
knew  whence,  was  not  this  her  haven  at  last?  She 


278 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

entered  into  her  heritage  fiercely  as  one  who  would 
not  be  dispossessed. 

Of  course,  Harry  treated  it  as  a  good  joke,  or  per- 
haps attempted  so  to  treat  it.  He  could  not  resist 
her  kisses  and  made  no  effort  to  do  so;  but  when 
she  had  calmed  down  a  little  and  he  had  pulled  her 
on  to  his  knees  so  that  he  could  look  deep  into  her 
black  eyes,  he  said: 

"We  mustn't  tell  Gabrielle  about  this;  we  mustn't 
say  a  word  just  yet,  Gipsy." 

She  thought  about  it,  pulling  at  the  button  of  his 
vest. 

"Do  you  wish  to  love  me  in  secret,  Harry?"  she 
asked  presently.  He  laughed  again  at  that,  and  said 
it  would  be  a  good  joke. 

"Gabrielle  will  never  marry  me;  I  know  that, 
Gipsy.  She's  gone  on  your  American  friend,  and  is 
too  proud  to  tell  him  so.  Our  affair  was  all  a  mis- 
take. Time  will  put  that  right,  and  then  you  and  I 
will  be  free.  Let's  keep  it  secret,  and  have  the  laugh 
of  them  all.  Will  you  do  that,  Maryska?" 

Her  eyes  were  wide  open;  she  made  an  effort  to 
understand. 

"You  do  not  forbid  me  to  love  you,  Harry  ?" 

"Certainly  not;  aren't  we  pals?" 

"I  may  come  here  just  when  I  like?" 

"As  long  as  Silvester  doesn't  get  mad  about  it." 

She  thought  upon  this,  but  half  satisfied. 

"Will  you  take  me  to  Paris  some  day?  I  want  so 
much  to  go  to  Paris.  There  is  life  there — life,  life, 
life!  One  sits  in  the  door  of  the  hotel  and  sees  all 
the  world.  These  English  people  make  me  hate  them, 


THE  MARIGOLDS  TO  THE  SUN        279 

but  I  love  the  French  as  my  father  did.  They  said 
in  Paris  that  he  was  a  great  artist;  I  know  it  was 
true.  He  could  have  compelled  all  the  world  to  say 
so  if  he  had  not  been  so  idle.  There  were  whole  weeks 
in  Ragusa  when  he  lay  in  bed;  sometimes  we  had  no 
food  in  the  house;  then  he  would  paint,  and  I  would 
go  with  the  picture  to  the  Jew  with  the  beard  and 
bring  the  money  home.  That  night  was  always  a 
festa.  It  was  better  in  Paris,  where  he  had  many 
friends  who  would  come  and  say,  'Work,  beast!'  and 
he  would  laugh  at  them  and  take  up  his  brushes.  You 
know  that  he  was  a  prince  in  his  own  country,  Harry  ? 
Once  when  he  was  very  ill,  he  told  me  so  and  gave 
me  some  papers.  That  was  at  San  Gimignano — oh! 
so  many  years  ago.  When  he  got  better  he  took  them 
away  again,  and  we  travelled  and  travelled,  just  like 
two  gipsies,  together  upon  the  lonely  white  roads. 
At  last  we  reached  Granada,  where  there  is  a  moun- 
tain with  gipsies,  running  in  and  out  of  their  holes 
like  the  rabbits  in  the  forest.  We  lived  with  them  a 
month  and  he  painted  many  pictures ;  then  we  took  ship 
and  went  to  Italy,  and  he  was  so  ill  that  I  knew  we 
should  never  go  over  the  white  roads  together  again. 
Ah,  dear  God!  what  a  life  I  have  led!  and  now  you — • 
you  are  the  only  one  in  all  the  world,  Harry." 

She  hid  her  face  from  him  and  put  her  arms  about 
his  neck  again.  Her  passionate  story  moved  him 
strangely  and  seemed  to  set  her  in  a  new  aspect  before 
him.  Was  it  possible  that  this  waif  was  what  the 
dead  artist  had  proclaimed  her  to  be?  Beneath  all 
the  sorry  veneer  of  the  Wander  jahre,  would  he  find  at 
last  the  grains  of  nobility  and  of  a  precious  birth- 


280  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

right?  That  would  mean  very  much  to  a  man  of 
his  temperament;  to  one  whose  whole  career  had 
taught  him  to  esteem  these  things.  The  mystery  of 
it  all  fascinated  him  strangely — she  frightened  him  in 
such  moods  as  this. 

He  did  not  promise  to  take  her  to  Paris,  but,  com- 
forting her  with  fair  words,  they  went  round  together 
to  Well  Walk  and  he  saw  Gabrielle  for  a  few  brief 
moments.    The  talk  between  them  was  quite  common- 
place, but,  as  often  before,  the  name  of  John  Faber 
quickly  crept  into  it.     Harry  turned  his  heel  upon 
that,  and  went  back  to  Holly  Place  in  high  dudgeon. 
"Good  God!"  he  said.     "That  man  again!" 
Why  did  she  not  tell  him  frankly  that  her  ambition 
lay  here  and  would  not  be  rebuffed? 

Ill 

He  had  been  very  proud  of  Gabrielle  in  the  old 
days,  and  was  proud  still  in  a  vain  boyish  way.  He 
knew  that  she  was  a  beautiful  woman,  and  could  suf- 
fer chagrin  when  he  admitted  that  the  measure  of  her 
intellect  was  far  beyond  his  own.  A  sportsman  and 
little  else,  all  this  cant  of  movements  and  causes  and 
stocial  creeds  stirred  him  to  ebullitions  of  temper  of 
which  he  was  secretly  ashamed.  Nothing  but  the 
influence  of  years  forbade  him  to  say  that  both  of 
them  had  made  a  great  mistake,  and  that  he  must 
end  it.  He  resolved  to  do  so  after  Maryska's  avowal, 
but  his  courage  was  not  responsive.  He  could  not 
bring  himself  to  what  must  seem  in  Gabrielle's  eyes 
but  a  vulgar  affront  upon  her  loyalty — and  so  the  days 


THE  MARIGOLDS  TO  THE  SUN        281 

drifted.  In  the  end  he  made  up  his  mind  to  leave 
London  for  a  week  or  so  and  trust  to  new  scenes  for 
inspiration. 

By  all  accounts  John  Faber  was  about  to  sail  from 
England,  and,  having  altered  his  plans  at  the  last 
moment,  Maryska  had  been  left  with  the  Silvesters — 
to  her  great  grief  but  not  to  Gabrielle's  dissatisfaction. 
Harry  knew  little  of  the  circumstances,  for  his  friends 
at  Hampstead  were  secretive,  and  latterly  had  become 
unaccountably  vague  in  all  their  plans.  That  John 
Faber's  departure  was  a  great  disappointment  to  them 
Harry  guessed,  though  his  vanity  suffered  by  the  ad- 
mission. He  knew  now  that  things  must  come  to  a 
head  between  Gabrielle  and  himself  directly  he  re- 
turned to  London,  and  the  very  fact  kept  him  in  Brigh- 
ton. It  would  have  been  good  to  be  alone  but  for 
his  longing  after  Maryska.  He  missed  her  every  min- 
ute of  the  day — there  was  hardly  an  hour  from  dawn 
to  dark  when  her  image  did  not  arise  before  him  and 
her  black  eyes  look  into  his  own. 

Brighton  had  always  interested  him  in  the  old  time, 
but  he  found  it  insupportably  dull  during  this  brief 
and  almost  penitential  vacation.  His  club,  one  of  the 
"brainiest"  in  the  country,  as  he  used  to  boast  else- 
where, was  filled  by  earnest  men  who  could  discuss 
nothing  but  the  passing  of  the  frost  and  the  danger 
which  the  country  had  escaped  almost  miraculously. 
Standing  upon  the  breezy  front,  where  a  warm  south 
wind  rattled  the  windows  of  the  old  houses,  it  seemed 
impossible  to  believe  that  a  man  might  have  picked 
ice  from  that  very  shore  but  a  few  short  weeks  ago. 
Now  Brighton  was  as  ever  a  compound  of  stones  and 


282  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

stucco;  of  square  lawns  and  of  wide  windows  as 
methodical;  of  a  tumbling  sea,  and  elderly  gentlemen 
in  weird  waistcoats  to  gaze  upon  it. 

All  these  had  plans  for  their  country's  salvation, 
and  few  of  them  did  not  mention  the  name  of  John 
Faber  at  some  time  or  other.  Harry  would  sit  in  the 
corner  with  the  old  priest,  Father  Healy,  and  listen 
contemptuously  to  the  talk  of  one  who,  as  he  said, 
had  earned  immortality  by  cornering  the  wheat  market 
and  then  giving  away  a  few  sacks  for  the  sake  of 
making  a  splash!  When  the  kindly  old  priest  would 
say,  "Come,  come !  he  has  done  very  much  more  than 
that,"  the  good  sportsman  admitted  that  perhaps  he 
had;  but  he  would  invariably  round  it  off  by  saying, 
"Well,  he's  gone  now,  anyway!"  and  would  ask  upon 
that:  "What  are  we  going  to  do  to  help  ourselves; 
that's  what  I  want  to  know  ?" 

It  opened  fine  possibilities  of  debate  in  which  many 
joined.  The  militant  section  had  but  one  panacea: 
"We  must  prepare  for  war!"  Civilians,  equally  con- 
fident, harped  upon  a  system  of  national  granaries, 
and  asked  what  imbecility  of  the  national  intellect  had 
prevented  us  building  them  before?  "Provisions 
against  a  siege,"  they  said. 

The  priest  was  almost  alone  in  desiring  that  a 
siege  should  be  made  impossible. 

"Build  granaries  of  goodwill,  as  John  Faber  has 
advised  you,"  he  said.  "Let  the  builders  be  your  best 
intellects.  There  is  no  other  surety!" 

Harry  liked  the  doctrine,  but  had  not  the  wit  to 
support  it  with  success.  He  was  constantly  depressed, 
and  even  the  cheery  spirits  in  the  billiard-room  could 


THE  MARIGOLDS  TO  THE  SUN        283 

do  little  for  him.  The  futility  of  his  flight  and  the 
cowardice  of  it  became  apparent  as  the  days  rolled  by. 
Why  had  he  left  London  and  what  was  he  doing  in 
this  place?  Was  not  Maryska  alone,  and  was  she  the 
one  to  be  left  safely  to  her  own  devices?  He  began 
to  be  afraid  for  her,  and  to  say  that  he  must  return. 
His  courage  shrank  from  the  ordeal,  but  his  desire 
would  face  it. 

And  that  was  the  state  of  things  when,  without 
any  warning  at  all,  "the  little  gipsy"  came  to 
Brighton,  and,  presenting  herself  immediately  at  his 
rooms,  declared  with  conviction  her  intention  not  to 
depart  therefrom  without  her  lover. 


CHAPTER  IV 

SURRENDER   AND   AFTERWARDS 


She  looked  very  tired;  there  were  deep  black  lines 
beneath  her  eyes,  and  her  dress  was  muddy.  Incident- 
ally she  told  him  that  she  had  walked  from  the  station 
'• — a  feminine  coup  to  deceive  possible  adversaries,  and 
one  greatly  to  her  liking. 

Harry  occupied  a  bedroom  and  a  sitting-room  in 
that  Boulevard  St.  Germain  of  Brighton,  Oriental  Ter- 
race, opposite  the  club.  The  sitting-room  had  a  win- 
dow, from  where  you  could  see  the  pier  if  your  neck 
were  long  enough ;  the  bedroom  was  dark  and  gloomy, 
and  suggestive  of  the  monastic  habit.  Neither  apart- 
ment had  any  ornament  to  speak  of — the  pictures 
wounded  the  gentlest  critic;  the  chairs  were  mid- 
Victorian  and  covered  in  leather.  Yet  when  Maryska 
came,  he  would  have  sworn  that  this  was  a  house  of 
Arcady.  One  wild  question  he  put  to  her:  one  loud 
word  of  remonstrance  which  brought  the  tears  to  her 
eyes.  Then  she  was  in  his  arms,  her  heart  beating  like 
a  frightened  bird's,  all  her  nerves  quivering  when  her 
lips  sought  his  own. 

"Maryska,  what  have  you  done?" 

She  snatched  her  hat  from  her  tousled  hair,  and 

284 


SURRENDER  AND  AFTERWARDS      285 

threw  it  on  the  shabby  sofa.  Squatting  upon  the 
corner  of  the  table,  her  luggage  in  her  hand,  she 
tried  to  tell  as  well  as  laughter  and  tears  would  permit. 

"It  was  after  breakfast — Gabrielle  had  gone  down 
to  the  church  to  see  the  organist.  I  ran  out  with  all 
my  money  in  my  purse,  and  went  round  to  Holly 
Place.  She  would  not  tell  me  where  you  were  until 
I  frightened  her — Dieu  de  mon  ante,  what  a  woman 
she  was!  But  I  stamped  my  foot,  and  I  said  the 
things  he  used  to  say,  and  then  she  wrote  it  down 
for  me.  At  the  bottom  of  the  wide  hill  I  saw  the 
voiturier,  and  called  him.  When  I  said  that  it  was  to 
Brighton,  he  laughed — the  gamin  that  he  was!  But 
I  was  angry  once  more  and  I  got  into  the  carriage, 
and  I  would  not  get  out  again.  That  seemed  to  please 
him.  He  said  that  he  would  vote  for  women,  and  he 
took  me  to  the  gare.  I  did  not  know  that  you  must 
go  by  the  railway  to  Brighton,  and  he  laughed  when 
I  asked  him — but  the  facteur  was  there,  and  he  said 
I  was  on  time.  So  I  came  right  along — and  ecco,  I 
am  here !  Are  you  glad  that  is  so,  bete  sauvage?  Are 
you  not  pleased  that  I  have  come  to  you  ?" 

He  had  not  an  idea  what  to  say  to  her.  The  world 
seemed  to  be  turned  upside  down  in  an  instant.  There 
was  no  such  town  as  Brighton  in  all  the  kingdom. 
How  the  sun  shone  into  that  gloomy  room!  What 
diamonds  of  light  were  everywhere!  He  had  come 
suddenly  to  the  palace  of  his  dreams  and  the  mis- 
tress of  it  was  here.  And  yet  his  talk  must  be  a  com- 
monplace. The  whys  and  wherefores  would  not 
stand  aside  even  in  an  hour  pregnant  of  such  wonders. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  bolted,  Maryska — just 


286  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

biffed  off  without  a  word  to  anyone  ?  My  hat !  what 
will  the  Silvesters  say  ?  What  shall  we  tell  them  when 
we  go  back?" 

She  swung  a  little  bonnet  by  the  strings  and 
shrugged  her  shoulders  determinedly. 

"Do  you  suppose  I  am  going  back  to  that  house? 
Jamais  de  ma  vie — I  am  here,  and  I  shall  stay.  If 
you  do  not  want  me,  please  say  so.  I  have  money  and 
I  shall  do  very  well.  It  is  there,  and  you  can  count 
it;  the  American  is  my  friend,  and  he  has  given  me 
money  always.  So,  you  see,  I  do  not  wish  you  to  work 
for  me ;  and  when  the  money  is  all  spent,  I  will  go  out 
to  the  cafes  and  they  will  let  me  dance.  Then  we 
shall  do  very  well,  you  and  I,  Harry,  but  not  in  such 
an  apartment  as  this.  Dio  di  mi  alma!  was  there  ever 
so  dreadful  a  lodging?  And  you  have  lived  here 
three  whole  days  as  the  woman  told  me !  Three  days 
in  such  a  house — madre  mla,  what  a  life!  But  now 
we  shall  go  away  to  the  hotel  until  the  money  is  spent. 
Say  that  we  shall  go,  and  make  me  happy,  for  you 
know  that  I  could  not  live  here.  Will  you  not  say  it, 
Harry — please,  at  once  ?" 

She  put  her  arms  about  his  neck  again  and  kissed 
him,  while  her  round  eyes  looked  deeply  into  his  own. 
He  was  her  lover,  and  all  her  creed,  learned  in  the 
nomad's  church,  taught  her  that  she  was  sacred  to 
him  and  he  to  her.  Upon  his  side  was  the  swift 
realisation  that  he  must  play  the  game.  He  would 
take  her  back  to  London  immediately.  There  was  no 
alternative. 

"I'd  say  anything  I  could  to  please  you,  Maryska, 
but  don't  you  see  that  we  must  think  of  what  other 


SURRENDER  AND  AFTERWARDS       287 

people  will  say?  Why,  we're  not  even  engaged,  little 
Gipsy,  and  if  we  went  to  a  hotel  together,  all  the 
idiots  we  know  would  shout  at  us.  I  can't  have  that 
for  your  sake.  If  we  were  married,  it  would  be  differ- 
ent. Let's  go  to  London  at  once,  and  tell  the  Silves- 
ters what  we  mean  to  do.  Now,  don't  you  see,  it's 
the  very  best  thing  we  can  do  ?" 

She  did  not  see,  but  sat  there,  a  rueful  picture, 
with  fifty  golden  sovereigns  on  the  table  beside  her 
and  all  her  worldly  possessions  in  a  little  unopened 
parcel.  A  terrible  fear  of  the  return  to  the  gloomy 
house  in  Hampstead  consumed  her.  Her  eyes  filled 
with  tears. 

"I  will  never  go  back,"  she  said  coldly;  "if  you 
do  not  want  me,  Harry,  I  will  go  where  no  one  shall 
ever  see  me  again.  If  you  love  me,  why  cannot  you 
marry  me  ?  I  am  ready  to  go  to  the  priest  this  instant. 
He  said  it  was  all  d d  palaver,  but  I  do  not  re- 
fuse to  go  because  of  that.  Take  me  now,  and  I 
will  be  your  little  gipsy  wife.  Do  you  not  wish  it, 
Harry?" 

Of  course  he  wished  it,  and  yet  what  should  he 
say  to  her?  Being  a  mere  man  and  knowing  some- 
thing of  such  a  nature  as  this,  her  threat  had  a  mean- 
ing he  did  not  dare  to  ignore.  What  if  she  refused 
to  go  to  London  with  him  ?  Would  people  blame  him  ? 
He  heard  already  the  horrible  malice  of  those  who 
would  declare  that  he  had  decoyed  her  from  her  home. 
The  world,  so  far  as  it  concerned  him,  would  say 
that  he  was  a  scoundrel;  his  whole  life  had  taught 
him  to  care  for  such  censure  when  the  greater  issues 
were  at  stake.  Oh!  she  had  put  him  in  a  pretty  fix; 


288  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

and  yet  he  loved  her  and  had  discovered  that  he 
could  not  leave  her  though  ten  thousand  railed  upon 
him. 

"Don't  you  understand,  Gipsy,"  he  protested  in 
despair,  "these  things  cannot  be  done  just  like  that? 
I'm  going  to  marry  you,  and  no  one  alive  shall  stop 
me.  But  I  can't  do  it  in  five  minutes.  We  shall 
have  to  get  a  licence  and  swear  we've  lived  in  Brigh- 
ton heaven  knows  how  long.  Then  there's  the  church 
people  to  see — and,  of  course,  the  Silvesters  must 
know.  It  would  be  shabby  to  keep  them  in  the  dark. 
My  dearest,  why  do  you  cry?  Don't  you  see  I  can't 
make  it  different  just  because  I  love  you?  Won't  you 
understand  ?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  through  her  tears. 

"You  do  love  me,  Harry?" 

"More  than  anything  on  earth,  little  Gipsy.  So 
help  me  God!  it's  true.  I  couldn't  leave  you  now 
i  f  I  wanted  to.  Put  your  arms  round  my  neck  and  tell 
me  you  believe  it.  There,  just  like  that — and  don't 
say  another  word  about  going  away,  or  I  don't  know 
what  will  happen  to  you." 

He  pulled  her  on  to  his  knees  and  held  her  close 
to  him.  She  had  twenty  schemes  in  her  head,  but 
the  one  she  liked  best  was  the  suggestion  that  her 
fifty  pounds  would  bribe  the  priest  to  an  immediate 
ceremony.  For  herself,  the  thing  was  of  little  account. 
He  had  taught  her  that  it  did  not  matter  as  long  as  a 
man  loved  a  woman,  and  beyond  that  was  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  world  almost  terrible  in  its  savage  con- 
ceptions of  right  and  wrong. 

"In  my  country,"  she  said  naively,  "we  go  away 


SURRENDER  AND  AFTERWARDS      289 

to  the  hills  when  we  are  in  love,  and  no  one  thinks 
we  have  done  wrong.  I  have  seen  dreadful  things, 
Harry;  I  saw  them  at  Ranovica  when  'the  boss'  went 
there  with  my  father.  Oh!  do  not  think  I  am  the 
simple  baby  that  you  English  like  their  wives  to  be. 
The  world  was  very  unkind  to  him  and  to  me.  Some- 
times, for  many  days  together  we  have  slept  at  the 
hotel  of  the  Belle  fitoile,  and  he  would  sell  our  clothes 
for  bread.  Once,  at  Perpignan,  we  were  put  in 
prison,  and  I  did  not  see  him  for  a  week.  It  was 
there  he  met  a  fellow-countryman  who  bought  us  from 
the  judge  and  took  us  to  Scutari.  His  relations  were 
great  people,  but  he  would  never  ask  anything  of 
them,  he  was  too  proud.  Some  day,  when  you  and 
I  are  rich,  we  will  go  to  Bukharest  and  tell  them  who 
we  are.  Perhaps  we  will  walk  all  the  way,  as  he  and 
I  did  from  Dijon  to  Nimes,  when  the  money  was  gone. 
Dear  heart!  what  a  walk  it  was,  and  all  the  acacias 
were  blooming  and  the  scent  of  the  hay  in  the  fields 
and  the  white  farms  at  night — and,  yes,  the  old  abbe 
who  was  so  gentle  and  good.  He  called  me  'little 
daughter' — it  was  near  Valence,  and  I  know  that  if 
you  and  I  had  gone  to  him,  he  would  have  married 
us.  Perhaps,  if  you  cannot  bribe  the  priest  here,  we 
will  take  the  steamer  and  go  now.  Oh,  how  good  it 
will  be  in  the  warm  hay  when  the  sun  shines!  And 
we  could  get  money  at  the  cafes  and  perhaps  in  Buk- 
harest; it  would  be  true  what  he  told  me,  and  his 
friends  would  be  a  little  kind.  Will  you  not  take 
me,  Harry  ?  Shall  we  not  go  to  the  sun  together,  away 
from  this  dreadful  country?  Oh,  how  happy  I  would 
be!  How  my  life  would  be  changed  if  you  would 


290  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

go.  Dearest,  will  you  not  do  it  when  Maryska  asks 
you?" 

She  pressed  her  hot  cheek  upon  his  hand  and  held 
his  hands  as  though  she  never  would  release  them. 
If  her  confessions  startled  him,  he  perceived  in  them 
an  acquaintanceship  with  life  and  its  realities  far  sur- 
passing his  own.  He  had  led  a  humdrum  existence 
enough  apart  from  his  cricket;  but  here  was  one  who 
could  lift  the  veil  of  romance  as  no  story-book  had 
done.  The  word  pictures  of  the  joyous  life  moved 
him  strangely  by  their  suggestions  of  a  freedom  which 
was  all-embracing;  of  a  garden  of  love  whereon  the 
sun  would  ever  shine !  And  from  that,  it  was  like  him 
to  tumble  suddenly  to  realities  and  to  remember  the 
loaves  and  the  fishes.  She  must  be  very  hungry,  he 
thought.  What  course  more  obvious  than  to  take  her 
to  the  hotel,  and  to  give  her  some  food? 

"By  Jove!  I  forgot  all  about  it,"  he  cried,  lifting 
her  on  to  her  feet,  and  so  snatching  at  her  hat.  "We'll 
go  to  the  Metropole  and  have  some  grub,  Gipsy  I 
Aren't  you  hungry,  little  wild  cat?  Don't  you  think 
you  could  eat  me?  Come  along,  then.  It  will  be 
time  to  talk  about  all  this  afterwards.  We  can  wire 
the  Silvesters  as  we  go;  let  'em  do  what  they  like, 
Gipsy.  I  shan't  part  with  you  now;  never  again,  I 
swear." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  was  but  half  satisfied. 
The  kindly  minister  of  the  gospel  stood  to  her  for 
an  ogre  who  would  make  light  of  the  Belle  fitoile, 
but  much  of  that  ancient  office  beginning  with 
"Dearly  beloved,"  and  ending  with  the  ecclesiastical 
blessing. 


SURRENDER  AND  AFTERWARDS      291 

II 

Gordon  Silvester  was  a  man  who  had  lived  forty- 
five  years  of  his  life  without  excitements,  and  had  then 
been  plunged  into  them  headlong. 

It  was  a  great  thing  for  a  man,  whose  only  diver- 
sion hitherto  had  been  the  weekly  disputations  with 
the  deacons  or  the  quarterly  disagreement  with  the 
organist,  to  find  himself  suddenly  upon  public  plat- 
forms, cheek  by  jowl  with  the  great  men  of  the  world, 
who  pleaded  for  the  supreme  blessing  which  could 
come  upon  humanity,  the  blessing  of  peace.  The 
notoriety  had  fallen  to  the  plodding  minister  after 
many  years,  and  henceforth  he  had  been  up  to  his  eyes 
in  the  papers,  the  pamphlets  and  other  paraphernalia 
of  the  pacific  propaganda.  The  reclame  of  it  all  de- 
lighted him.  He  became  almost  a  hustler,  and  was  at 
war  with  every  whisper  which  deplored  the  ancient 
habit  and  the  paths  of  ease. 

There  were  many  worries,  to  be  sure.  Bishops 
would  send  mere  archdeacons  to  his  meetings.  His 
letters  to  the  Press  were  shockingly  mutilated.  He 
had  the  suspicion  that  certain  worldly  millionaires 
merely  considered  him  a  pawn  in  the  game,  and  were 
quite  unwilling  to  admit  that  Hampstead  was  the  hub 
of  the  universe.  Upon  this,  came  the  gradual  con- 
viction that  his  daughter,  Gabrielle,  was  the  real  agent 
of  much  of  the  fame  that  he  won,  and  that  his  meet- 
ings were  a  success  or  a  failure  in  just  such  a  meas- 
use  as  she  chose  to  make  them.  If  this  had  been  the 
case  before  the  great  tribulation,  he  found  the  posi- 
tion even  more  intolerable  when  the  danger  was  past. 


292 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

All  England  spoke  now  of  fact  and  not  of  theory. 
The  demand  for  brains  to  save  the  nation  from  another 
panic  was  universal.  Men  said  that  arbitration  had 
become  as  much  a  necessity  as  vaccination.  You  could 
not  starve  thirty-seven  millions  because  the  frontier 
of  a  swamp  must  be  delimited  or  a  possible  mine 
in  a  bog  be  possessed!  The  phantoms  of  the  living 
death  had  hovered  over  the  country  during  the  terrible 
weeks  and  the  lesson  had  been  learned.  But  for  that 
master-mind — the  mind  of  the  great  American,  whom 
destiny  had  sent  in  the  critical  hour — the  end  of  all 
things  had  come !  It  was  supererogatory  now  to 
preach  mere  platitudes  from  ancient  platforms. 

So  Silvester  fell  a  little  to  the  background  and 
suffered  an  unmerited  obscurity.  The  common  ills  of 
the  domestic  life  cropped  up  again,  and  must  be  doc- 
tored. He  had  to  pay  rents,  rates  and  taxes,  and  to 
remember  that  Gabrielle  was  about  to  marry  a  boy 
whose  income,  at  the  best,  could  not  be  more  than 
five  hundred  a  year.  And  she  might  have  done  so 
well !  Some  recollection  of  his  old  time  ambition  upon 
the  steamer  filled  him  with  vain  regrets  now  that 
John  Faber  had  left  England.  The  compensation  was 
a  cheque  for  £5,000,  to  be  employed  to  Maryska's 
benefit  until  she  should  set  out  for  New  York.  Mean- 
while she  was  to  remain  at  Hampstead  to  learn  all 
that  Silvester  could  teach  her  of  the  social  amenities 
and  the  elemental  faith.  An  unstable  patronage,  to 
be  sure,  but  very  characteristic  of  that  restless  brain. 
Silvester  paid  the  cheque  into  his  bank,  and  declared 
he  would  do  his  best.  Three  days  afterward  he  knew 
that  he  could  do  nothing  at  all. 


Ill 

Harry  sent  the  telegram  from  the  General  Post 
Office  at  Brighton  at  half -past  two  exactly.  It  was 
laconic,  and  evaded  the  issue  somewhat  cleverly. 

"Maryska  is  at  the  Metropole  Hotel  at  Brighton 
with  me.  All  well.  Return  as  soon  as  possible." 

He  had  written  it  when  fortified  by  the  child's 
black  eyes,  and  some  excellent  Rudesheim  she  had 
insisted  upon  drinking.  It  was  all  up  between  Gabrielle 
and  him — it  had  been  all  up  long  ago,  and  well  enough 
for  both  of  them  that  it  should  be.  She  would  marry 
the  American  and  spend  his  money  like  one  o'clock! 
Harry  was  sure  of  this,  though  he  had  some  qualms 
when  he  remembered  that  Faber  had  sailed  from 
Southampton  and  intimated  very  plainly  that  the  date 
of  his  return  was  distant. 

It  was  wonderful  how  frankly  he  and  Maryska 
discussed  this  very  matter.  The  daughter  of  Louis 
de  Paleologue  knew  little  of  the  sacrament  of  mar- 
riage but  a  great  deal  of  the  sociology  of  the  studio. 
Her  doctrine  recognised  the  passion  and  the  pathos 
of  love,  but  the  bonds  it  inspired  were  personal,  and 
had  little  to  do  with  the  priest.  If  a  man  did  not  love 
a  woman,  he  left  her  and  sought  another.  There  were 
neither  scenes  nor  scruples.  Sometimes  the  woman 
would  rage  fearfully  for  a  day,  but  her  anger  soon 
passed  and  calm  fell.  In  this  case  she  did  not  think 
there  would  be  any  anger,  and  she  was  right.  There 
was  merely  humiliation. 

Verily  a  heavy  blow  fell  upon  that  little  house  in 
Hampstead  when  the  telegram  came.  It  was  so  like 


294  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

Gordon  Silvester  with  his  large  faith  in  human  na- 
ture, and  his  habit  of  making  a  fetish  of  a  public 
school  education;  so  like  him  to  believe  it  all  mere 
high  spirits  and  to  declare  that  the  pair  of  them 
would  be  home  to  dinner.  Gabrielle  knew  the  truth 
from  that  moment.  The  ship  that  drifted  upon  the 
ocean  of  a  "boy  and  girl"  infatuation  had  come  to 
harbour.  She  would  not  hide  it  either  from  her  father 
or  herself,  whatever  the  cost  to  her  pride. 

"I  expected  nothing  less!"  she  said  to  Silvester, 
when  he  ran  into  her  boudoir  with  the  telegram  and 
tried  to  make  a  jest  of  it.  "It  was  in  the  child's 
blood.  We  cannot  be  responsible." 

Silvester  threw  himself  into  an  arm-chair,  and  be- 
gan to  swing  a  leg  as  was  his  habit. 

"Responsible  for  what?  Don't  you  see  it's  a  child- 
ish freak?  Of  course,  they  ought  not  to  have  done 
it.  I  must  cut  down  all  this  liberty  now  that  Faber 
has  gone.  She's  to  give  me  an  account  of  her  day, 
and  no  going  out  at  all  unless  you  or  I  know.  Really, 
it's  too  bad  of  Harry!" 

Gabrielle  went  to  the  window,  still  holding  the 
telegram  in  her  hand.  Her  lips  quivered,  but  she 
spoke  apparently  without  emotion. 

"At  least,  he  will  behave  honourably,"  she  said.  "I 
have  no  fear  upon  that  point.  He  will  marry  her  at 
once,  father ;  he  cannot  do  less." 

Silvester  laid  back  his  head  upon  the  cushion  and 
surveyed  a  ceiling  not  ill-painted  by  a  one-time  zealous 
amateur. 

"Marriage  is  a  great  institution,  my  dear;  I  don't 
find  it  a  fitting  subject  for  jest." 


SURRENDER  AND  AFTERWARDS      295 

"Oh,  my  God!"  she  said,  wheeling  about  and  fac- 
ing him  so  suddenly  that  he  sat  bolt  upright.  "Don't 
you  see  what  it  means?  Has  it  not  been  going  on 
under  our  very  eyes?  And  you  talk  of  a  'boy  and  girl' 
escapade!  I  tell  you  they  are  madly  in  love.  She 
sees  no  one  else  when  he  is  there — he  cannot  take  his 
eyes  off  her.  Why,  they  are  married  already  for  all 
I  know — or  you  care,"  she  added  with  almost  savage 
emphasis. 

The  outburst  frightened  a  man  by  no  means  blessed 
with  much  pluck  where  women  were  concerned.  Sil- 
vester turned  as  white  as  a  sheet.  It  was  as  though 
a  pit  had  been  opened  at  his  feet,  and  he  had  looked 
in  to  see  enormities. 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me — God  forbid!"  he 
gasped.  "You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  this  is  sin, 
Gabrielle?  You  don't  think  that,  surely?" 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  she  said  in  despair. 
"It  is  our  business  to  act  at  once.  You  must  go  to 
Brighton.  What  will  Mr.  Faber  say  if  you  don't? 
Telegraph  to  Southampton  in  case  the  yacht  has  not 
sailed.  Have  we  no  responsibilities?  Oh!  don't  you 
see?  It's  madness,  madness!  And  it's  our  fault. 
Both  of  us  are  to  blame.  We  have  just  gone  our  own 
ways  and  left  them  to  themselves.  What  else  could 
have  come  of  it  when  they  were  lovers?" 

He  stood  before  her  utterly  abashed. 

"My  dearest  girl,"  he  said,  "I  will  go  to  Brighton 
at  once." 

And  then  he  said : 

"But  it's  of  you  I  should  be  thinking.  God  bless 
you,  Gabrielle!" 


296 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

IV 

He  left  by  the  half -past  four  o'clock  train  from 
Victoria,  and  did  not  return  that  night.  When  he 
was  gone,  Gabrielle  shut  herself  up  in  her  own  room, 
and  asked  herself  what  new  thing  had  come  into  her 
life. 

A  turn  of  fortune  had  cast  her  down  from  the 
heights  to  the  old  abyss  of  the  suburban  monotonies; 
and  now  it  had  put  this  affront  upon  her.  She  per- 
ceived already  what  sport  the  teacup  brigade  would 
make  of  it,  and  how  her  pride  must  suffer  just  because 
of  the  very  littleness  of  her  surroundings.  All  Hamp- 
stead  would  point  the  finger  at  her,  and  there  would 
be  kind  friends  in  abundance  to  offer  their  sympathies. 
Thus  had  her  destiny  punished  the  brief  hours  of  an 
infatuation  for  which  her  youth  had  been  responsible. 
As  others,  she  had  known  a  day  when  she  had  de- 
sired the  love  of  man  and  had  desired  it  passionately. 
Thus  had  she  come  to  be  the  betrothed  of  one  who 
had  never  loved  her,  and  for  this  she  must  repay. 

She  had  thrown  aside  much,  to  be  sure,  to  fall 
upon  such  a  penalty.  John  Faber  would  have  made 
her  his  wife  could  she  have  escaped  the  meshes  of  a 
net  she  herself  had  tied.  He  would  have  lifted  her 
above  all  these  sordid  creeds  of  a  puny  society  to 
.the  heights  of  freedom  and  of  opportunity.  She  be- 
lieved that  she  could  have  risen  with  him  and  upheld 
a  position  his  money  would  have  won  for  them.  She 
saw  herself  the  mistress  of  a  splendid  house ;  heard  her 
name  in  high  places;  believed  that  she  was  born  to 
rule  and  not  to  serve.  And  opportunity  had  passed 


SURRENDER  AND  AFTERWARDS      S97 

her  by  for  this.  The  man  who  would  have  ennobled 
her  had  sailed  for  America,  and  she  did  not  believe  he 
would  return.  In  any  case,  she  did  not  dare  to  think 
of  him  now.  As  she  had  sown,  so  must  she  reap. 

Something  of  an  intolerable  despair  afflicted  her 
now,  and  drove  her  to  silent  tears.  The  stillness  of 
the  house,  the  measured  chiming  of  the  church  bells, 
the  monotonous  fall  of  footsteps  upon  the  pavement, 
how  they  all  suggested  the  round  of  the  insufferable 
days  she  must  live !  It  had  been  so  different  a  month 
ago,  when  her  name  had  been  honoured  and  her  activ- 
ities abundant.  How  full  her  life  had  been  then,  when 
many  had  honoured  her,  and  she  had  gone  proudly 
in  and  out  among  the  people.  Such  an  opportunity 
could  not  recur;  and  she  reflected  that  it  had  been 
made  for  her  by  one  who  had  been  willing  that  she 
should  wear  the  laurel  his  brains  had  won.  He  was  on 
the  Atlantic  now,  and  all  must  seem  but  an  episode 
in  his  story. 

Here,  perchance,  she  did  herself  less  than  justice; 
for  her  aims  had  been  noble  and  her  faith  quite  honest. 
She  had  desired  the  supreme  gift  of  peace  upon  earth, 
and  much  that  she  had  done  was  the  fruit  of  an  en- 
thusiasm which  had  brought  this  very  shame  upon  her. 
She  would  not  think  of  it  now  nor  remember  her  sac- 
rifice. Enough  to  say  that  the  night  of  her  hopes  had 
come  down,  and  that  the  day  would  never  dawn  again. 

So  the  long  hours  passed  wearily.  At  eight  o'clock 
there  came  a  telegram  from  her  father  in  vague  terms, 
but  such  as  she  had  expected : 

"Am  doing  all  possible.  Everything  will  be  well. 
Shall  not  return  yet.  Writing." 


298  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

She  crumpled  the  paper  in  her  hand  and  fell  to 
wondering  what  the  message  meant.  Had  Silvester 
discovered  such  an  escapade  as  his  faith  discerned  or 
something  of  which  he  would  not  speak?  She  knew 
not  what  to  think,  but  remembered  her  last  words  to 
him,  that  he  should  telegraph  to  John  Faber  in  case 
the  yacht  had  not  sailed. 

In  case  it  had  not  sailed! 

Her  face  flushed  and  her  heart  beat  faster  when 
she  repeated  the  words. 

And  yet,  God  knows,  it  could  matter  little  to  her 
whether  the  Savannah  was  still  in  Southampton  Water 
or  had  passed  the  Lizard  Light  upon  its  way  to  the 
great  Atlantic. 


The  lunch  at  the  Metropole  was  altogether  different 
from  any  lunch  Harry  had  eaten  in  all  his  life.  It  was 
as  though  something  had  transformed  Brighton  in  a 
twinkling,  making  of  its  commonplaces  a  paradise,  and 
melting  its  shadows  in  a  rain  of  gold.  Never  had  he 
realised  what  a  town  it  was:  how  bright,  how  inspir- 
ing, and  how  typical  of  a  joyous  life.  And  this  is  to 
say  that  a  pride  of  possession  had  come  upon  him  so 
that  he  walked  proudly  by  Maryska's  side — he  who 
had  known  hundreds  of  pretty  girls,  and  had  flirted 
with  many  of  them.  Now  the  recklessness  of  a  young 
passion  took  charge  of  the  situation,  and  would  not 
be  denied.  The  tears  had  passed  from  the  child's  face, 
and  the  sun  shone  down  upon  them. 

"We  shall  go  to  Paris  to-night,"  she  said  trium- 


SURRENDER  AND  AFTERWARDS      299 

phantly,  "and  afterwards  to  Italy.  Bien  entendu,  you 
do  not  wish  to  tease  me  any  more,  Harry.  It  is  all 
over,  is  it  not — this  gloomy  England  and  all  the  sad 
people  ?  I  shall  never  see  them  any  more,  shall  I  ?" 

He  laughed  loudly,  so  that  many  in  the  room  turned 
their  heads  to  look  at  him. 

"But,  Maryska,"  he  rejoined,  "we're  not  married 
yet,  my  dear.  How  can  I  take  you  to  Italy  when  we 
are  not  married?" 

She  thought  upon  this,  her  pretty  head  poised  upon 
her  hand.  For  herself  that  would  have  been  no  ob- 
stacle at  all,  for  had  not  he  said  that  marriage  was 
something  which  the  priests  did  to  keep  the  wolf  from 
the  door?  Harry,  however,  must  be  considered,  and 
for  his  sake  she  would  think  about  it. 

"You  shall  pay  the  priest  and  he  will  marry  us," 
she  said  at  length.  "Show  him  the  money  and  he  will 
not  turn  us  away.  It  is  not  necessary  to  show  him 
too  much  at  the  commencement.  Afterwards  you  can 
put  more  upon  the  table,  and  he  will  see  it.  That 
is  what  my  father  did  when  his  friend,  the  Abbe  of 
Dijon,  wished  that  I  should  be  confirmed.  He  wanted 
to  paint  a  picture  in  the  church  there,  and  he  said  that 
it  did  not  matter  a  damn  one  way  or  the  other.  So, 
you  see,  it  can  be  done,  Harry;  and  what  you  can  do 
in  Dijon,  you  can  do  in  England.  Go  to  the  priest 
and  learn  if  I  am  not  wise." 

"Oh!"  he  cried,  laughing  as  he  raised  his  glass, 
"you  are  the  last  word  in  originals,  and  that's  sure! 
Don't  you  know  that  there  are  twenty  things  to  be 
done  before  people  can  be  married  in  England?  It's 
almost  easier  to  get  hanged.  No  priest  would  marry 


800 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

us  unless  he  had  a  license,  Maryska.  I  suppose  I  can 
get  a  special  in  two  or  three,  days,  but  we  shall  want 
all  that.  Meanwhile,  had  you  not  really  better  go 
back  to  Hampstead  ?" 

Her  spirits  fell.  The  rose-bud  of  a  mouth  drooped 
pathetically.  She  did  not  believe  a  word  of  it,  and 
was  driven  to  the  thought  that  he  renounced  her  after 
all!  Thus  she  came  upon  the  borderland  of  a  scene 
even  in  the  dining-room  of  the  great  hotel,  while  he 
shrank  in  despair  from  the  task  of  persuading  her. 

"I  will  never  go  back  to  Hampstead;  I  will  throw 
myself  into  the  sea  first!" 

"Don't  talk  rot,  Maryska.  You  know  I  want  to 
do  the  best  I  can  for  you." 

"Is  it  the  best  to  send  me  away  when  I  love  you?" 

"I'm  not  sending  you  away;  I'm  only  keeping  you 
out  of  the  reach  of  silly  tongues." 

"What  do  I  care  for  them?  What  does  it  all  mat- 
ter if  we  love?" 

"It  won't  matter  for  more  than  two  or  three  days. 
After  that,  we'll  go  to  Italy." 

"Then  I  shall  stay  in  Brighton  by  your  side  until 
the  permit  arrives.  I  will  never  go  to  Hampstead 
again,  so  help  me  God !" 

"Oh,  but  you  mustn't  swear!  Let's  talk  about  it 
after  lunch,  dearest  girl.  I  want  just  to  look  at  you 
and  see  you  happy.  Do  you  know  you're  frightfully 
pretty,  Maryska?" 

She  flushed  with  pleasure  upon  that.  Many  a  man 
had  called  her  pretty  in  the  old  days;  but  she  shrank 
from  their  words  then,  knowing  well  what  they  meant. 

"He  used  to  say  that  it  would  be  so,  if  ever  I  loved 


SURRENDER  AND  AFTERWARDS       301 

a  man.  I  have  been  so  lonely  since  he  died,  and  that 
has  made  my  face  sad.  Now  it  is  different.  I  do  not 
mean  to  be  sad  any  more.  I  shall  go  to  Italy,  and  we 
will  laugh  in  the  sun  together.  Cannot  it  be  to-day, 
Harry?  Here  is  the  sea,  and  there  are  the  ships.  Let 
us  take  one  and  sail  away !  We  can  think  of  the  priest 
in  France,  where  there  are  many  who  will  be  glad  of 
our  money.  Will  you  not  please  me,  sauvage  bete? 
Then  take  me  upon  the  ship  immediately." 

He  could  not  answer  it.  The  problem  became  more 
embarrassing  every  hour,  and  when  lunch  was  done, 
and  they  were  out  on  the  parade  together,  it  began  to 
seem  beyond  his  wit  altogether.  Not  for  a  kingdom 
would  he  have  brought  tears  to  those  bright  eyes  again. 
How  prettily  she  babbled  at  his  side;  how  quick,  how 
clever,  how  beautiful  she  was!  A  pride  of  possession 
prevailed  above  all  prudence,  and  drove  him  far  from 
considered  resolutions.  He  was  content  to  go,  hand 
ki  hand  with  her — God  knew  whither ! 

In  the  end,  it  all  came  back  to  the  priest.  Let 
them  see  the  priest!  He  knew  but  one  priest  in 
Brighton,  and  that  was  the  excellent  Father  Healy, 
with  whom  he  had  fraternised  at  his  club.  Divine 
inspiration.  Let  them  call  upon  him. 

VI 

Father  Maurice  Healy  lived  up  at  the  back  of  the 
town  in  an  old  windmill,  skilfully  transformed  and 
built  about  so  that  it  had  become  a  veritable  bungalow, 
with  more  than  one  pleasant  room  and  a  little  chapel 
which  his  lady  friends  declared  was  too  divine  for 


302  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

words.  He  had  been  smoking  his  afternoon  cigar, 
when  the  amazing  pair  burst  in  upon  him,  and  never 
in  all  his  life  had  he  laid  down  good  tobacco  to  listen 
to  a  tale  so  wonderful ! 

"Ye'll  have  to  wait,"  he  said  dryly.  "I've  no 
power  to  marry  ye  at  all  as  the  State  understands  the 
term.  Ye'll  get  a  special  licence,  and  then  come  to 
me.  'Tis  wise  advice,  my  dear,  that  ye  should  go 
back  to  your  friends  in  London  until  things  can  be 
put  straight.  Make  up  your  mind  to  that.  I'm  no 
better  off  in  securing  you  to  legal  marriage  than  any 
man  ye  may  stop  in  the  street.  Mr.  Lassett  knows 
that  well,  and  he'll  have  told  ye  as  much." 

Harry  nodded  his  head  in  unison  with  the  words 
as  though  this  was  just  the  counsel  he  had  expected. 
Maryska,  thinking  that  she  knew  priests  well,  clasped 
her  precious  bag  firmly  in  both  her  little  hands  and 
looked  the  enemy  squarely  in  the  face. 

"We  will  pay  you  money,"  she  said  with  much 
dignity.  "I  have  ten  pounds  here,  and  you  shall 
have  it.  What  you  say  does  not  matter  to  us  at  all. 
We  are  not  frightened  of  the  judges,  Harry  and  I. 
If  you  marry  us  to-day,  we  shall  go  away  to  Italy, 
and  the  gendarmes  will  not  find  us.  He  has  said 
that  I  must  go  back  to  Hampstead,  but  I  will  never 
do  so.  I  will  kill  myself  if  you  do  not  marry  us. 
Harry  knows  that  it  is  true,  and  that  is  why  we  have 
come  here.  Perhaps,  if  you  married  us,  he  has  some 
money  and  will  add  it  to  mine.  There  are  other 
priests,  but  we  do  not  wish  to  go  to  them.  Oh,  sir, 
will  you  not  do  it  for  those  who  love?  Will  you  not 
make  us  happy?  It  is  nothing  to  me  this  ceremony, 


SURRENDER  AND  AFTERWARDS       303 

but  to  him  it  is  so  much.  And  I  have  the  money  here ; 
I  will  show  it  to  you  if  you  wish." 

She  began  to  fumble  with  the  bag  while  the  good 
father  and  Harry  regarded  her  with  an  amazement  be- 
yond all  words.  Never  had  Maurice  Healy  heard  such 
an  address  or  seen  so  pretty  a  bargainer  in  that  little 
room.  And  the  horror  of  it  all — her  ignorance,  her 
childish  faith,  her  frank  confession!  He  was  as  clay 
in  her  hands  already — and  she,  a  heathen. 

"But,  my  dear  young  lady,  'tis  far  from  under- 
standing ye  are,"  he  gasped  at  length;  "not  a  penny  of 
your  money  would  I  be  touching  anyway.  Don't  you 
see  I  can't  marry  ye  because  the  law  will  not  let  me? 
Tis  not  me,  but  the  Parliament  that  has  the  making 
of  it.  Ye  must  take  your  money  to  them." 

Maryska  looked  at  him  almost  with  pity.  Harry's 
appeal  to  her  might  as  well  have  been  addressed  to 
the  stucco  walls  of  the  bungalow. 

"I  do  not  believe  you,"  she  said;  "you  have  a 
little  church  there,  and  you  can  say  the  words.  The 
money  will  buy  you  many  things  that  this  poor  house 
is  in  need  of.  Please  to  marry  us  at  once,  and  then 
we  can  go  and  be  happy.  Oh,  sir,  if  you  knew  what 
it  was  to  love!  But  priests  do  not  know  that;  they 
have  no  hearts.  You  will  let  us  sail  to  Italy  without 
your  blessing,  and  will  remember  it  afterwards.  Is 
it  kind  of  you  to  do  that  when  you  think  that  you 
serve  God?" 

"But,  my  child,  I  will  give  ye  my  blessing  freely; 
'tis  to  marry  you  I  am  unable." 

"We  do  not  care  for  that;  nothing  matters  to  us 
but  our  love.  We  go  to  Italy  to  forget  this  dark 


304  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

country  and  its  people.  If  you  will  not  do  as  we 
wish,  we  shall  ask  no  other.  Is  it  for  religion  to  refuse 
us,  father,  when  we  have  come  here  as  the  Church 
would  wish  us  to  do?" 

"God  be  good  to  me!"  he  cried  in  despair,  "but 
I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you,  and  that's  the  truth. 
I'll  see  your  husband,  my  dear,  and  have  a  talk  to 
him.  Will  you  come  into  the  dining-room  while  I 
have  a  word  with  ye,  Mr.  Lassett?  'Tis  beyond  all 
argument  and  reason — God  knows  it  is." 

She  did  not  demur,  and  they  went  away,  leaving 
her  before  a  superb  crucifix,  which  seemed  to  speak  of 
the  country  for  which  she  sighed.  The  argument  be- 
tween the  good  father  and  the  equally  good  sportsman 
was  both  long  and  at  times  explosive.  "Nothing 
easier,"  said  the  priest,  "than  to  take  her  back  to  Lon- 
don and  be  married  in  three  days'  time."  "Nothing 
more  impossible  to  do  any  such  thing,"  urged  Master 
Harry,  who  thought  that  he  knew  the  patient.  She 
would  never  go  to  London,  and  if  she  were  left  alone 
in  an  hotel  at  Brighton,  he  would  not  answer  for  her. 
Had  she  been  an  Englishwoman,  the  whole  situation 
would  have  been  impossible.  But  she  was  just  a  waif 
and  stray  from  the  wilds  of  Bohemia,  and  her  creed 
had  been  learned  under  the  kindly  stars.  Would 
Father  Healy  take  charge  of  her  until  a  licence  could 
be  got?  The  father  said  "No,"  most  emphatically; 
he  would  have  no  woman  in  the  house.  What,  then, 
did  he  suggest  ? 

Of  course,  they  were  both  very  frightened  of  her, 
and  they  spoke  in  low  tones  as  though  she  might 
burst  in  and  accuse  them.  Impossible  to  face  that 


SURRENDER  AND  AFTERWARDS      805 

little  fury  and  declare,  "There  is  nothing  to  be  done." 
When  Harry  suggested  that  common  humanity  would 
marry  them  and  trust  to  the  licence  afterwards,  Father 
Healy  asked,  "Would  ye  have  me  in  prison?"  None 
the  less,  both  plainly  perceived  now  that  it  must  be 
done.  A  licence  could  be  obtained  immediately,  and 
the  civil  marriage  celebrated  at  the  office  of  the  reg- 
istrar. The  good  father,  vague  about  the  law,  followed 
Harry  back  to  the  room  with  a  protest  on  his  lips.  It 
was  none  of  his  doing — and  yet  he  did  it  after  all. 
And  Harry  must  swear  solemnly,  and  she  must  fol- 
low with  her  pledged  word,  not  to  leave  Brighton  until 
the  affair  was  made  legal.  Oh,  the  change  in  her 
when  she  knew  the  truth! 

So  they  got  the  priest's  blessing  before  the  little 
altar  in  the  oratory,  and  when  the  brief  ceremony 
was  over,  they  went  away  together,  back  to  his  rooms. 
But  they  were  no  longer  gloomy  rooms,  for  now  the 
two  saw  nothing  but  each  other's  eyes,  and  little  it 
mattered  to  them  that  the  oleographs  were  mid-Victo- 
rian and  that  the  mahogany  chairs  matched  them. 
Maryska  had  found  the  heart  of  a  new  world,  and  she 
dwelt  there  for  just  two  hours  in  good  content  until 
there  came  a  knock  upon  the  door,  and  Gordon  Sil- 
vester, tired,  pale,  and  wonderfully  earnest,  entered 
softly  into  their  paradise  and  began  to  speak  of  men 
and  cities. 

"I  have  telegraphed  to  Mr.  Faber,"  he  said.  **He 
must  know  immediately." 

Maryska  laughed  in  his  face. 

"He  is  on  the  sea,"  she  said.  "You  will  hare  to 
send  the  telegram  which  flies." 


CHAPTER  y 

TWO  SHIPS  UPON  THE  SEA! 


Faber  had  expected  such  a  telegram;  but  he  had 
not  thought  that  it  would  be  so  longed  delayed. 

He  told  Gabrielle  once  upon  a  time  that  she  was 
drifting  upon  a  tide  which  would  carry  her  to  unhappy 
seas;  but  he  himself  had  been  doing  the  same  thing 
since  his  work  in  England  was  finished.  This  was  a 
man  who  had  learned  to  love  a  woman,  but  was  a  very 
novice,  none  the  less,  in  all  the  arts  of  love. 

Had  it  been  a  business  affair,  with  what  zeal  would 
he  not  have  plunged  into  it?  Being  far  from  that,  a 
situation  in  which  the  whole  soul  of  the  man  was  at 
stake,  he  did  as  the  woman  had  done — drifted  upon 
the  tide  of  circumstance,  and  was  content  to  wait. 

Be  sure  that  he  had  read  the  secret  of  Harry  Las- 
sett's  passion  for  Maryska  almost  at  the  beginning. 
Because  of  it,  he  left  her  in  the  little  house  at  Hamp- 
stead,  and  would  have  sailed  to  New  York  without 
her.  If  Harry  had  the  courage,  he  would  cut  the  knot, 
and  the  treasure  ship  would  float  upon  a  kindly  stream 
to  the  harbour  already  prepared.  But  would  he  have 
the  courage?  One  excuse  and  another  kept  Faber  at 
Southampton,  but  the  news  did  not  come.  The  order 

306 


TWO  SHIPS  UPON  THE  SEA  307 

to  weigh  anchor  had  been  given,  and  recalled  a  dozen 
times  in  as  many  days.  The  yacht  would  have  been 
in  the  Solent  that  very  night,  but  for  Gabrielle's  in- 
structions to  her  father.  "Telegraph  Mr.  Faber,"  she 
had  said.  He  received  the  message  while  he  was  writ- 
ing to  Sir  Jules  Achon  in  the  little  cabin  which  served 
him  for  library,  and  there  being  no  train  to  serve  his 
purpose,  the  fastest  motor-car  in  Southampton  was  on 
the  road  to  Brighton  within  the  hour. 

It  was  half-past  eleven  when  he  reached  Oriental 
Terrace,  and  five  minutes  later  when  he  burst  in  upon 
a  dismal  company.  Having  taken  possession  of  "the 
assets  of  respectability,"  Gordon  Silvester  had  refused 
to  budge  an  inch;  and  having  exhausted  his  homilies 
upon  "honour,"  "the  married  state,"  and  the  "scandal 
of  the  whole  proceeding,"  had  fallen  to  a  sullen  si- 
lence. Harry  and  Maryska,  no  less  obstinate,  declared 
their  intention  of  remaining  in  Brighton  until  a  reg- 
istrar had  married  them,  and  then  of  leaving  for  Paris 
immediately.  An  appeal  to  the  girl  to  consider  her 
obligations  toward  John  Faber  met  with  the  charac- 
teristic answer  that  she  recognised  none.  She  was 
sorry  for  this  a  little  later  on  when  Faber  himself  ap- 
peared just  like  a  fairy  godfather  to  a  scowling  Cin- 
derella. His  coming  gratified  her  vanity;  his  domi- 
nant will  never  failed  to  subdue  her.  She  remembered 
the  hours  they  had  spent  together  upon  the  road  to 
Ranovica  and  all  they  had  meant  to  her. 

"Why,  little  girl,  and  what  has  been  going  on  here, 
now — and  Mr.  Lassett,  too?  I  guess  I'm  on  time  for 
the  party  anyway.  Will  someone  just  tell  me  what  it's 
all  about  before  we  begin  ?  Don't  move,  Mr.  Silvester. 


308 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

I'd  have  you  all  be  comfortable  and  I'll  light  a  cigar 
if  Miss  Maryska  doesn't  mind.  Now,  will  no  one  tell 
me  the  story?" 

Maryska  ran  to  him  just  like  a  child  to  a  father. 
He  was  plump  in  an  arm-chair  with  her  by  his  side 
before  a  man  could  have  counted  ten,  and  she  lit  his 
cigar  with  a  little  hand  which  trembled  while  it  held 
the  match. 

"Harry  and  I  are  married!"  she  said,  "you  must 
not  be  very  cross ;  he  would  not  have  been.  We  went 
to  the  priest  this  afternoon — then  that  man  came,  and 
will  not  go  away!  Will  you  send  him  away,  please? 
We  do  not  want  him  here." 

Even  Silvester  laughed  at  this;  all  the  conventions 
went  into  the  melting-pot  at  the  bidding  of  the  child. 
It  would  have  been  impossible  for  Melpomene  herself 
to  have  resisted  her.  The  minister  puffed  hard  at  his 
pipe,  and  forgot  her  ingratitude.  John  Faber  stroked 
her  hair,  and  said  to  himself  that  her  love  had  changed 
her  wonderfully. 

"Why,  my  dear,  that's  not  very  kind  to  your  good 
friend  nor  to  me!"  he  said  gently  enough.  "Don't 
you  think  you  might  have  told  us  something  about  it 
all?  Perhaps  we  should  have  been  able  to  help  you 
if  you  had  come  to  us.  Was  it  right  to  keep  us  all  in 
the  dark  like  this?" 

Of  course,  Harry  blurted  out  that  it  was  all  his 
fault,  and  that  she  was  not  to  blame.  There  were 
three  speaking  at  once  presently,  and  all  the  while 
Faber  had  Maryska's  arms  about  his  neck.  They  had 
not  meant  to  do  it  all — circumstances  drove  them; 
they  thought  that  he  had  gone  away.  To  which  was 


TWO  SHIPS  UPON  THE  SEA  309 

added  the  truly  feminine  dictum  that  they  could  not 
help  loving  each  other,  and  were  not  to  blame.  When 
Silvester  obtained  a  grasp  of  the  situation,  and  de- 
clared that  she  must  have  known  she  was  doing  wrong, 

Maryska  responded  that  she  did  not  care  a  d n; 

which  finished  the  worthy  pastor,  and  sent  him  in 
high  dudgeon  back  to  his  hotel.  It  was  nearly  mid- 
night, and  he  feared  that  he  would  be  locked  out ! 

When  he  was  gone,  Faber  took  Harry  aside  and 
had  a  long  talk  with  him.  This  was  a  very  different 
affair,  and  set  every  nerve  in  the  young  man's  body 
tingling.  To  begin  with,  there  was  the  charge  upon 
the  honour  of  the  man.  Why  had  he  not  had  it  out 
with  Gabrielle  ?  A  man  who  cannot  talk  straight  to  a 
woman,  whatever  the  circumstances,  is  worth  very 
little  in  the  world.  Then,  what  did  he  propose  to 
do?  To  keep  house  and  wife  and  children  upon  his 
paltry  three  hundred  a  year?  What  selfishness  was 
that ;  what  a  confession  of  idleness  and  vain  folly ! 
He,  Faber,  would  let  Maryska  remain  with  no  man 
who  would  not  work  himself  for  her,  and  bring  ambi- 
tion to  his  task.  Harry  should  have  twelve  months  to 
justify  himself!  If  he  needed  capital,  it  was  there—- 
but he  must  prove  his  worth.  "Show  me,"  said  Faber, 
"that  you  earn  five  hundred  pounds  honestly  at  the 
end  of  twelve  months,  and  I  will  make  it  five  thou- 
sand!" Failing  that,  he  swore  very  solemnly  that  he 
would  have  Maryska  back  with  him  at  Charleston, 
and  defy  the  consequences.  "She'll  be  glad  to  come," 
he  said;  "she's  just  the  kind  to  discover  whether  a 
man  has  grit  in  him  or  no — and  God  help  you,  if  you 
haven't." 


310  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

To  the  little  wife,  his  farewell  was  in  a  kindlier 
mood  altogether.  She  must  know  that  she  had  a 
friend  in  him  always ;  send  for  him  whenever  she  was 
in  trouble.  He  would  try  to  cross  the  Atlantic  to  see 
her  sometimes;  the  years  were  speeding,  and  he  did 
not  mean  to  work  as  hard  as  he  had  done.  He  would 
have  her  always  in  his  thoughts,  his  fellow  traveller 
upon  the  drear  road  of  death.  The  present  that  he 
gave  her  brought  the  hot  blush  to  her  cheeks.  Oh, 
the  days  of  joy  it  would  buy  in  the  south,  where  the 
sun  would  shine  upon  her  life.  She  kissed  him  again 
and  again.  "He  will  know  that  you  have  made  me 
happy,"  she  said. 

He  saw  her  last  through  the  uncurtained  window, 
showing  her  treasure  to  Harry.  The  boy  drew  her 
close  and  kissed  her.  They  were  alone  at  last. 

But  John  Faber  returned  immediately  to  South- 
ampton, through  a  sleeping  country  for  which  his 
genius  had  done  much  in  the  days  of  tribulation. 

II 

Sir  Jules  Achon's  yacht  was  in  dock  when  Faber 
awoke  late  next  day,  and  he  learned  with  some  sur- 
prise that  it  had  reached  the  Solent  yesterday,  and  was 
anchored  a  little  while  in  Portsmouth  harbour,  until, 
indeed,  Rupert  Trevelle  went  aboard  with  news  of 
the  Savannah.  Then  Sir  Jules  sailed  for  Southamp- 
ton immediately,  and  so  the  master  minds  met  at  last, 
each  with  his  own  story  of  the  tremendous  days. 
Faber  thought  the  baronet  a  little  worn  by  his  labours ; 
but  his  zeal  was  unchanged,  and  he  still  looked  toward 


TWO  SHIPS  UPON  THE  SEA  811 

that  goal  of  life  where  the  peace  of  the  world  should 
be  won.  The  Tsar,  he  said,  was  still  unwilling  to 
come  in;  but  he  had  obtained  much  encouragement 
at  the  minor  courts,  especially  those  of  the  south-east 
of  Europe.  For  England  herself,  he  had  little  hope 
in  the  matter.  The  old  imagination  had  failed  his 
countrymen.  The  petty  issues,  not  the  greater,  were 
discussed  in  the  market  place. 

"This  should  be  a  story  of  three  kings,"  he  said, 
"and  they  must  recreate  the  world.  In  your  country, 
you  have  built  an  altar  to  humanity  which  never  can 
be  cast  down.  We  learn  slowly  in  Europe,  for  we 
are  blinded  by  the  glitter  of  ancient  arms.  In  more 
material  things,  the  shopkeeping  instinct  is  the  foe 
of  progress.  When  I  can  throw  down  the  commercial 
barriers,  I  can  cast  out  war.  The  field  is  mighty,  but 
the  labourers  are  few.  If  I  were  not  already  in  my 
sixty- fourth  year,  I  would  hope  to  see  the  noblest 
day  in  the  story  of  man.  As  it  is,  I  can  but  sow 
and  leave  those  who  come  after  me  to  reap." 

Faber  said  that  none  of  them  could  hope  to  do 
more. 

"We  are  up  against  the  animal  instinct,  and  that 
is  as  old  as  Eden.  You  know  my  view.  If  peace  is 
to  be  won  for  humanity,  it  will  be  by  the  brains 
and  the  money  of  those  who  lead  humanity.  This 
country  has  had  a  terrible  fight,  and  everyone  is  cry- 
ing out  for  this  or  that  to  be  done.  I  shouldn't  won- 
der if  it  all  ended  in  nothing  being  done.  Men  talk 
the  old  platitudes  the  while  they  read  their  newspapers 
and  ask  what  Germany  or  Spain  has  the  intention  of 
doing.  I  don't  blame  the  war  party,  for  it  is  its  busi- 


318 SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

ness  to  make  war.  God  knows,  I've  seen  enough  of 
that  to  last  me  a  lifetime,  and  when  I  go  back  to 
New  York,  it  will  be  to  live  on  the  hill-top.  But 
others  will  carry  on  my  business,  and  it  will  have  to 
be  carried  on.  The  day  when  any  European  nation 
disarmed  for  reasons  of  sentimentality  would  be  the 
last  day  of  its  freedom.  We  must  deal  with  facts  as 
they  are;  we  cannot  run  ahead  of  the  great  company 
of  men,  for  assuredly  we  shall  fall  if  we  do." 

Sir  Jules  was  in  accord  with  all  this.  He  spoke 
fervently  of  what  the  big  men  were  doing.  Andrew. 
Carnegie  and  Taft  and  Bryce  at  Washington.  An 
atmosphere  was  being  created,  but  he  feared  its  arti- 
ficiality. Commerce  was  the  key,  he  repeated ;  remove 
the  commercial  bias  and  the  day  was  won.  For 
Faber's  promise  to  become  one  of  the  presidents  of 
the  Federation  League,  he  was  very  grateful.  "You 
have  done  much  for  this  country,"  he  said;  "your 
name  will  mean  a  great  deal  to  me." 

They  fell  afterwards  to  talking  of  their  more  do- 
mestic affairs.  Sir  Jules  said  that  his  daughter  Eva 
had  gone  to  Winchester  to  lunch  with  a  friend,  but 
he  expected  her  to  dinner.  The  same  hesitation  which 
had  led  Faber  to  defer  his  departure  upon  so  many 
recent  occasions,  now  prompted  his  acceptance  of  the 
suggestion  that  he  should  join  the  party,  and  he  went 
over  to  the  Savannah  immediately  to  dress. 

"I'll  weigh  to-morrow  anyway,"  was  his  word  at 
parting.  "My  skipper  doesn't  like  these  waters  in 
the  dark,  and  I've  got  to  consider  him.  Eight  o'clock, 
I  think  you  said,  Sir  Jules?  You'll  be  alone,  of 
course  ?" 


TWO  SHIPS  UPON  THE  SEA  313 

"My  daughter  and  I;  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  both 
of  us." 


Ill 


The  night  fell  warm  and  murky  with  a  soft  and 
southerly  breeze. 

All  the  lanterns  of  the  ships  in  Southampton  Water 
shone  clear  and  steady  as  Faber  paced  the  quarter- 
deck of  the  Savannah  until  it  should  be  time  to  keep 
his  appointment. 

A  month  ago  how  different  the  scene  had  been — 
the  frost  everywhere;  the  frightened  people;  the 
menace  of  a  peril  from  which  the  bravest  shrank. 
Now  this  had  become  a  scene  of  England's  maritime 
habit — a  scene  wherein  the  great  steamers  moved  ma- 
jestically, their  sirens  hooting,  their  crews  to  be  wel- 
comed home  or  bidden  God-speed,  as  the  occasion 
demanded.  In  the  background  were  the  red  and  green 
lamps  of  the  railway,  the  busy  streets  of  the  town,  the 
coming  and  going  of  citizens  whose  day's  work  was 
done.  As  a  tempest  drifting,  the  storm  had  passed. 
The  ramparts  beloved  of  the  nation  had  made  of  this 
again  an  island  kingdom. 

John  Faber  dwelt  upon  such  thoughts  for  an  in- 
stant, but  anon  they  turned  to  a  woman.  Would  he 
leave  England  and  seek  no  more  to  reason  with  Ga- 
brielle  Silvester?  Would  he  be  justified  in  going  to 
her  in  an  hour  of  some  humiliation  ?  He  had  no  young 
man's  impetuosity,  no  virile  passion  of  love  which 
would  break  all  barriers  rudely.  A  real  and  generous 
sentiment  toward  her,  the  belief  that  she  was  for  him 


314  SWORDS  RELUCTANT 

the  one  woman  in  all  the  world  had  become  a  habit 
of  his  life.  She  would  be  the  ornament  of  any  man's 
home.  Her  dignity,  her  wit,  her  womanliness — in 
what  precious  jewels  would  he  not  set  them  if  she 
had  but  come  to  him?  And  all  this  might  have  been 
if  Harry  Lassett  had  had  the  courage  to  tell  her  the 
truth  and  the  little  witch  of  Ragusa  had  been  as  other 
women.  Now,  all  had  been  put  to  the  hazard.  It 
might  be  that  all  was  lost. 

The  boat  came  alongside  at  last,  and  he  went  aboard. 
It  was  very  silent  all  about  him,  and  when  he  heard 
a  woman's  laugh,  coming  from  the  deck  of  a  ship,  he 
wondered  that  it  should  seem  to  speak  to  him  across 
the  waters.  The  Savannah  herself  lay  warped  to  the 
quay  of  the  dock,  but  they  put  a  ladder  down  for  him, 
and  he  climbed  it  slowly.  A  steward  said  that  Miss 
Achon  was  in  the  boudoir,  and  he  went  there — to  see 
neither  Sir  Jules  nor  his  daughter,  but  another  figure 
and  one  whose  wide  eyes  expressed  all  the  hope  and  the 
fear  of  that  tremendous  encounter. 

"But,"  cried  Gabrielle,  "Eva  told  me  that  you  had 
sailed." 

"Ah!"  he  said,  refusing  to  release  her  hand,  "she's 
not  the  first  of  your  sex  who  always  tells  the  truth." 


THE   END 


NEW  BOOKS 

AND   NEW  EDITIONS 


THE  GAMBLERS 

A  dramatic  story  of  American  Life.  By  CHARLES  KLEIN 
and  ARTHUR  HORNBLOW,  authors  of  "The  Lion  and  the 
Mouse,"  "The  Third  Degree,"  "John  Marsh's  Millions,"  etc. 
I2mo,  Cloth.  Illustrations  from  scenes  in  the  great  play. 
$1.50. 

THE  EASIEST  WAY 

A  Vivid  Story  of  Metropolitan  Life.  By  EUGENE  WALTER 
and  ARTHUR  HORNBLOW.  t2mo.  Cloth.  Illustrated. 
$1.50. 

THE  ROGUE'S  HEIRESS 

A  novel.  By  TOM  GALLON.  I2mo,  Cloth,  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

A  novel.  By  MRS.  COULSON  KERNAHAN.  ismo,  Cloth. 
$1.50. 

THE  WIFE  DECIDES 

A  romance  of  American  Life.  By  SYDNEY,  WHARTON. 
i2mo,  Cloth.  Illustrations  by  J.  C.  CHASE  and  J.  KNOWLES 
HARE,  JR.  $1.50. 

THE  GUILTY  MAN 

A  novel.    By  FRANCOIS  COPPEE.    English 
RUTH  HELEN  DAVIS.  i2tno,Cloth.  Illustrations  by 
ENCE  ROWE.    $1.50. 

JOHN  MARSH'S  MILLIONS 

A  novel.  By  CHARLES  KLEIN  and  ARTHUR  HORN- 
BLOW.  I2mo,  Cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

THE  THIRD  DEGREE 

By  CHARLES  KLEIN  and  ARTHUR  HORNBLOW.  ramo, 
(Sloth  bound.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

THE  LION  AND  THE  MOUSE 

By  CHARLES  KLEIN  and  ARTHUR  HORNBLOW. 

Cloth  bound.     Illustrated,.   $1.50.. 


A  HISTORY  OF  THE  FRENCH  ACADEMY 

By  D.  MACLAREN  ROBERTSON.  8vo,  Cloth  bound.  D- 
lustrated.  Net,  $3.00.  Postage,  15  cents. 

THE  MAYOR  OF  NEW  YORK 

A  romance  of  days  to  come.  By  L.  P.  GRATACAP.  A  etort 
of  Heroism  and  Devotion.  Illustrated.  I2mo,  doth  bound. 
$1.50. 

THE  COUNTRY  BOY 

By  HOMER  DAVENPORT.  (The  story  of  his  own  early  life.) 
With  over  sixty  illustrations  by  this  world-famous  cartoonist. 
Cloth  bound.  Net,  $1.25. 

THE  SPENDTHRIFT 

Novelized  from  the  Popular  Play  by  EDWARD  MARSHALL. 
i2mo,  Cloth  bound.  With  six  illustrations  from  scenes  in  the 
play.  $1.50. 

MEW  FACES 

A  volume  of  8  stories.  By  MYRA  KELLY.  12310,  Gloth. 
Beautifully  illustrated.  $1.50. 

THE  OLD  FLUTE  PLAYER 

By  EDWARD  MARSHALL  and  CHARLES  T.DAZEY.  The 
story,  in  competition  with  nearly  2,000  others,  awarded  the  first 
prize  at  the  Actors'  Fund  Fair.  Cloth  bound.  Illustrated. 
$1.50. 

THE  HOUSE  ON  STILTS 

A  novel.  By  R.  H.  HAZARD.  I2mo,  Cloth,  Illustrated.  $i.ga 

BUCEY  O'CONNOR 

A  novel.  By  WM.  M.  RAINE,  author  of  "Wyoming,"  etc. 
I2mo,  Cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

IF  DAVID  KNEW 

By  FRANCES  AYMAR  MATHEWS.  Author  of  "My  Lady 
Peggy  Goes  to  Town,"  etc.  I3mo,  Cloth  bound.  Illustrated. 
$1.50. 

THE  DOUBLE  CROSS 

A  Romance  of  Mystery  and  Adventure  in  Mexico  of  To-D»y. 
By  GILSON  WILLETS.  I2mo.  Utestrated.  $130. 

THE  PEACOCK  OF  JEWELS 

A  detective  story.  By  FERGUS  HUME.  I2mo,  Cloth.  $1.25. 

TINSEL  AND  GOLD 

A  new  novel  by  DION  CLAYTON  CALTHROP.  Author  of 
"Everybody's  Secret."  I2mo,  Cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

BELLES,  BEAUX  AND  BRAINS  OF  THE  GO'S 

ByT.C.  DELEON.  Octavo,  Clotbbound.  With  one  hundred 
«nd  fifty  half-tone  portraits  N  et.  $3.00. 


JOHN  HOLDEN,  UNIONIST 

A  Romance  of  the  Days  of  Destruction  and  Reconstruction. 
By  T.  C.  DE  LEON.  12010,  Cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

CRAG-NEST 

A  Romance  of  Sheridan's  Ride.  By  T.  C.  DE  LEON.  Illus- 
trated. I2mo,  Cloth.  $1.25. 

SAMANTHA  ON  CHILDREN'S  RIGHTS 

By  MARIETTA  HOLLEY.  8vo.  Cloth  botind.  Illustra- 
tions by  Chas.  Grunwald.  $1.50. 

THE  WRITING  ON  THE  WALL 

A  novel  founded  on  Olga  Nethersole's  Play.  By  EDWARD 
MARSHALL.  I2mo,  Cloth  bound.  Illustrations  by  Clarence 
Rowe.  $1.50. 

EIDGWAY  OF  MONTANA 

By  WM.  MACLEOD  RAINE,  author  of  "Wyoming."  I2mo. 
Cloth  bound.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

REDCLOUD  OF  THE  LAKES 

By  FREDERICK  R.  BURTON,  author  of  "Strongheart." 
I2mo,  Cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

THE  THOROUGHBRED 

A  novel.  By  EDITH  MACVANE.  I2mo,  Cloth  bound.  Il- 
lustrated. $1.50. 

THE  WARRENS  OF  VIRGINIA 

By  GEORGE  GARY  EGGLESTON.     I2mo,  Cloth  bound. 

Illustrated.     $1.50. 

STRONGHEART 

Novelized  from  WM.  C.  DsMILLE'S  popular  play,  by  P.  R. 
BURTON.  I2mo,  Cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

EATHERINE'S  SHEAVES 

By  MRS.  GEORGE  SHELDON  DOWNS.  Illustrated. 
I2mo,  Cloth.  $1.25. 

STEP  BY  STEP 

By  MRS.  GEORGE  SHELDON  DOWNS.  Illustrated. 
I2mo,  Cloth.  $1.50. 

GERTRUDE  ELLIOT'S  CRUCIBLE 

By  MRS.  GEORGE  SHELDON  DOWNS,  author  of  "Kath- 
erine's  Sheaves,"  "Step  by  Step,"  etc.  I2mo,  Cloth  bound. 
Illustrated.  $1.50. 

THE  LAND  OF  FROZEN  SUNS 

A  novel.  By  B.  W.  SINCLAIR,  author  of  "Raw  Gold,"etc. 
I2mo,  Cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.50. ^ 


THE  HAPPY  FAMILY 

By  B.  M.  BOWER,  author  of  "Chip  of  the  Flying  IT,"  etc. 
I2mo,  Cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.25. 

THE  LONESOME  TRAIL 

By  B.  M.  BOWER.  I2mo,  Cloth.  Colored  illustrations. 
$1.25. 

THE  LONG  SHADOW 

By  B.  M.  BOWER.     I2mo,  Cloth.    Illustrated.    $1.25. 

THE  LUBE  OF  THE  DIM  TRAILS 

By  B.  M.  BOWER.  i2mo,  Cloth.  Illustrations  by  RUS- 
SELL. $1.50. 

CHIP  OF  THE  FLYING  U 

By  B.  M.  BOWER.  Popular  edition.  I2mo.  Illustrated. 
50  cents. 

HER  PRAIRIE  KNIGHT 

By  B.  M.  BOWER.  I2mo,  Cloth.  Illustrated.  Popular 
edition,  50  cents. 

RANGE  DWELLERS 

By  B.  M.  BOWER.  I2mo,  Cloth.  Illustrated.  Popular 
edition,  50  cents. 

BY  RIGHT  OF  CONQUEST 

A  powerful  romantic  novel.  By  ARTHUR  HORNBLOW,  au- 
thor of  Novel  "The  Lion  and  the  Mouse,"  "The  End  of  the 
Game,"  "The  Profligate,"  etc.  I2mo,  Cloth  bound.  Illus- 
trated. $1.50. 

THE  CITY  OF  SPLENDID  NIGHT 

A  novel.  By  JOHN  W.  HARDING,  author  of  "  Paid  in  Full," 
etc.  1 2 mo,  Cloth  bound.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 

TRUE  DETECTIVE  STORIES 

By  A.  L.  DRUMMOND.    I2mo,  Cloth.    Illustrated.    $1.50. 

ARTEMUS  WARD 

Complete  Comic  Writings.    I2mo,  Cloth.    $2.00. 

JOSH  BILLINGS 

Complete  Comic  Writings.    I2mo,  Cloth.    Illustrated.    $2.00. 

DEVOTA 

By  AUGUSTA  EVANS  WILSON.  Illustrated.  (Third  large 
printing.)  $1.50.  x 


A 


